The loose sandstone wall loomed ahead of Bronwen, its heights shielding her view to the city’s innards. Its bricks were worn and clearly in such a pattern that she could see the way in which her friends would have scaled its surface. She placed her fingers over the first of the jutting bricks, pulling them away when she felt its rough surface. Redoubling her commitment, she grabbed firm to the brick and found another for her off-hand, her left foot now dangling above the ground below.
“Well what have we got here,” sounded a voice from just out of Bronwen’s sight. Its owner emerged from the shadows of a near dismantled market stall, the sun-faded colours of the now tattered cloth ceiling providing ample cover for their clandestine activities.
Bronwen released the stones in a panic, dropping back to the floor. She stumbled backwards, before being caught by the robed interloper, their hands rough but firm on her elbows.
“Careful, girl. You could hurt yourself,” the hoarse male voice muttered in her ears.
The blood in her face rushed to the surface, her new redness possibly mistaken for a bad sunburn from the unforgiving and unrelenting sun.
He released her, and, given a moment to recover her thoughts, Bronwen turned to face him. His face was altogether far too handsome, his chiselled jaw-line akin to the most flattering statues of kings and gods. Piercing blue eyes met hers, and in an effort to avert her gaze, her eyes fell on his hard, muscular physique. She coughed, before shielding her eyes in girlish embarrassment.