The square was empty. The sun, standing at its zenith, blinded and burned out the hot dust with evil rays; the sultry air trembled, seemed dense and tangible. But you were trembling. With numb icy hands, you lifted the fallen blanket and covered your disheveled hair. Mechanically, you looked back and saw him, the one who saved you from death.

He was squatting, hunched under the scorching sun, as if oblivious to the heat, in light, dust-covered clothes, and pensively writing something with his finger on the ground. Wavy, glossy hair, scattered over her shoulders, shone in the sunlight the color of thick red, well-aged wine.

Hesitantly, you took a step towards him. He raised his head and slowly straightened to his full height, brushing the dust off his hands and clothes. Dark hair, pale narrow face with thin and irregular features. A pointed chin framed by a small beard. Well-defined full lips. Nor did he have an athletic build, although he was tall and slender. But in his whole appearance you felt some inner strength, calm confidence shining in his eyes, and an indomitable will. Eyes was dark, sad, with a haze and, at the same time, clear, radiating some inner light that was lost in the shadow of long, curled up, like a woman's eyelashes.

At that moment, he smiled, revealing teeth. And you were amazed at how that childish smile lit up his face in a new way, as if illuminating it from the inside.

"Where are your accusers?" He turned to you softly and, looking around the deserted square, added. "None of them judge you? Well, I'm not judging you either. Go in peace and try not to sin in the future." He turned away, about to leave, but after hesitating for a moment, he stopped and turned around, looked straight into your eyes. "What's your name?"