It was a bright Sunday afternoon somewhere in October. An open air concert was held in one of the Whitby parks. Entrance was free, but people could make donations to some kind of charity Simon hadn’t cared to pay attention to. He hadn’t been particularly interested in going, but his father had explicitly forbidden his children to go, and so he went anyway. 

He was a young man who had just turned twenty a couple of days ago. He was of average height, but the hard work had made him strong. His skin was tanned as that of many of his profession, who spent most of their day working outside. His hair was chestnut brown, with a glow of red in it and was kept short. 

He stood there, listening to the cellos and violins, when he spotted one of the boys from a lane nearby, walking around with his hands in his pocket apparently aimlessly. The next moment the boy quietly approached a well to do lady who was not paying attention. Simon walked over to the boy and grabbed his arm. When the child looked up irritated and struggled, Simon nodded in the direction of a constable, standing only a few yards away and luckily looking away at the moment. The boy stopped struggling and Simon let go. The child put his hands back in his pockets and wandered off.