Bramblepoint The shape of brat pop to come

the man shook his head gently. "i do not need my love to be returned. i hope only for your forgiveness." he knew that they could never be as they had been, and while he would have adored a stolen moment of mutual want and desire, the chaotic entwinement of their bodies, he himself did not expect that they would resume any such thing -- lasher did not know if the want for such was even alive within him.

he had called peregrine back to him for but one thing -- he had said his piece, and they had shared affable words. what more could he wish for? it was enough that they were together now, in this place, with the warmth and colour of spring turning their landscape into a gentler one for the backdrop of their soft words.