Tinberly sat on the edge of the fountain, swinging her legs idly as she watched the crowd go by and chatted with her best friend. Lissica was her own age, eighteen years old, and they'd grown up together, only a few streets apart. They had a lot in common, both having lost a father; in Lissica's case a southern merchant who simply never returned home one day from a long trip abroad. That showed in her fair hair and grey eyes, contrasting against the more typical dark tones of Tinberly's own.
They had a lot to talk about, as they always did, the comings and goings of the neighbourhood, the constant bustling life of the city around them. The afternoon had gone fast, and now the sun was setting, the sky starting to dim, signalling that the day was finally at an end.
"It's getting late," said Lissica, eventually, sitting beside her on the stone ledge. "Maybe tomorrow?"
"I can't go home," said Tinberly, glancing down at her feet, "not yet."
The other girl frowned, a quizzical look on her face. "Why not? Is everything all right?"
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