She had been here.
It was dark now. A color ebony as his fur had settled over the land, and, consequently, the waters. Otavio had wished to settle down before they trekked onward—to recuperate for the night—but his brother was restless, and for a number of reasons. Between a nagging tinge of hunger, a bit of thirst, and the steady ache in his legs, Machello could not sleep.
So, instead, he walked.
He had done much of this in days past. As much as his muscles protested, he did not mind it; it had actually become rather soothing, really, simply taking in the trees that stood around him, and the sound of water lapping to his right. Even without the moon to illuminate the woods, he could see it all well enough. Could keep himself somewhat distracted with shapes and shadows.
If there was anything worse than hunger, thirst, or muscle aches, it was abstinence.
And Machello could hardly contain himself any longer.
He and Otavio hadn’t seen a pretty face since they’d left the springs. That had been tolerable for a time—but now, it had entered the realm of unbearable. The man had hoped to find someone worth his time in these woods before turning in for the evening. Someone worth indulging in.
Instead, he had found her scent.
It was exceedingly faint, but he would not mistake it anywhere.
She had been here. A while ago.
With a low sigh, Machello came to a stop in the midst of the timber, and sat. He stared out over the lake, watching what pale ripples he could see fan across its surface. He would tell Otavio once he returned—but he had no intention of returning yet.
Jan 12, 2018 09:07 PM
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