High above the town, the sky is a deep crystalline blue, gently fading to the east a rich purple and the west to a muddy azure. In stark contrast to the darkening sky the half moon and Venus, the evening star, shine pearlescent white. Closer to Earth the towering spire of a church is visible, and closer still the ancient shop fronts belly outwards, their windows gold and inviting. Gas lamps peak through the night, leading the way, encouraging the weary traveller onwards.
Tump, tump. The sound is felt rather than heard as booted feet strike the slabs of the pavement. Fingers of mist, rolled in from the sea, caress the feet, tease the laces and reach for the thigh. The stranger is well wrapped up against the cold of the deserted street, and the fingers of mist are batted away like that over an incautious lover by a gloved hand. Upwards from those heavy boots are thick, tough trousers. A long back coat swings as she walks, a definite female roll to the hips. The dark scarf covers most of her face, but is still thin enough for twin clouds of steam to be expelled for the proximity of her nose. Her hair is held back, but a long fringe falls down the side of her face, and framed by that hair and that scarf lie eyes that match the western sky. Her brow is furrowed – perhaps she is deep in thought of is it just against the cold?