As she sleeps, he runs his fingers along the lengths of her black hair, following its wave with his eyes, watching where it catches the glow of firelight. She is – and he has known it since he first saw her – painfully beautiful. He imagines that if he were to tell her so, she’d frown, ask him what use beauty is, and neglect to thank him. But she is. And he has found it hard to look away.
