his hair tousled and damp with sweat. I stroke it away from his face, practically purring at the feel of it, thick and silken. Isolde and I held a vote, and it was democratically agreed that Tristan was only allowed to cut his hair twice a year at most. Tristan, a believer in democracy, has bowed to the will of the people, and right now his hair is long enough to curl around his ears and neck again. Perfection.
