The stream rushed across my toes and lapped at the bank. The breeze carried his scent, which permeated my senses. Finally, I was learning how to detect his presence. Soon, I would know how best to avoid him. Or how to catch him before he caught me. While turning to face the jester, the skirt of my dress brushed my thighs. Poet lounged against the column of a tree, his shoulder slumping into the bark. Grass rustled around his scuffed boots. The wrinkled dip of his neckline flapped like a set of wings. With that lazy pose, those eyes smudged in black, and the tousled clothing, this male looked
...more
