He rang his clothes free of water as discreetly as he could at the back of a smithy's; in a puddle already formed; redressed, and ascended to the rooftops. He loved to soar over the city. He loved the sound he made when his boot caught the edge of the orange-tinted roof slabs. The rush of almost falling into the streets stories below. He loved being free from everyone- the guards, Vierri, his family…
Ezio parked himself under a lemon tree on a nobleman's terrace. The house seemed vacated, so he assumed they had gone on holiday to Roma or Venezia. Ezio picked a perfectly ripe lemon from the tree, and savoured its citrus juices as noon came and went. He hummed to himself a little lullaby he had heard his mother sing to Petruccio when he was but a squalling babe. He cracked his back against the roots of the tree; blinked whenever the sun broke through the minimal leaf and branch cover, but enjoyed his rest nonetheless.
Life is good, Ezio Auditore thought to himself, in the same tune of that lullaby he loved.