Watching from above, Amal had taken out a sackcloth of dates and had begun to eat gingerly, watching this woman haggle with the goldsmith as his men leered at her from behind. Amal had all the gold he needed for a tenday, and so he thought he get some free entertainment. Fortunately for the woman, she managed to get out of the predicament scot free. Amal would have applauded her if it wouldn't have announced his perch, so he simply continued to watch, wondering why the Goldsmith's men did not simply rob her after. 

He got his answer when a royal guard in a familiar garb approached from the east, pointed nose poking out of his proudly, uniformly trimmed beard. He could already tell what was about to transpire before the threats had begun, and he did laugh aloud when she kicked the guard in the groin. If only everyone in Araby had such daring! She ran as if her life depended on it, and it certainly did. Two more royal guards saw her fleeing form escape down the alley, and they drew their swords, running past their downed comrade. 

Normally, Amal would have simply let it go there. In fact this was the perfect scenario. Having someone fall for the crime he committed. The thief would have laughed and bragged about such a thing for days after. But something made him second guess himself. An old friend of his had once told him, [i]A tree that affords thee shade, do not allow it to be cut down[/i]. For you see, there were only three things Amal truly appreciated. Beautiful women, treasure, and a sense of danger. This woman represented all three in spades, and he knew something else. She had been running from the law even before they had accused her of stealing from the Satrap. Her manner and stolen clothes confessed to it. 

He downed the last of the dates, hopping to his feet and scaled down the building to the second floor, strong fingers gripping the sandstone of the walls. Kicking off, he made it to the lower rooftop and raced across the buildings. Having traversed these streets for over ten years, he could adequately guess where the foreigner was going, seeing her golden hair turning a corner not a moment later as he crossed a gap between the seammaster's residence and the shoe maker shop. He readied a rope, tying it to the pillar of the top pavillion of the following building.

"I will take your mane as a trophy, whore!" One of the guards cried out, echoing into the night. Emmaline turned at the sound of the voices behind her just as Amal landed right before her path. Her eyes spotted him as she turned back just in time not to run into him. The thief, breathing heavily from the acrobatics, didn't have time to explain he was not here to gut her before she kicked at his groin on instinct. He had already seen her use the move though, and he blocked it with his hands. 

He waded back, holding his arms up to show he meant no harm. "Wait, wait! I am not here to cut your pretty throat, though I am curious on the color of foreigner blood." He said with an open mouthed grin. "I am here to help, or would you like to take your chances with the Satrap's men?" Not a moment later, he was already grabbing the rope he had laid down with one, strong hand as he held the other out for her to take. 

If she took his hand, he would pull her on his back and used his considerable strength to haul them both up atop the roof, pulling the rope up just as the Satrap's men would turn the corner. In a small gesture of bravado, Amal would blow them a kiss and wave them farewell as the men on the ground cursed their luck. "Now that they have lost you, you might get your wish," he said in heavily accented Reikspeil, and looked at her with a devilish smirk. "Their balls may well be removed."
[@Penny]