Swiftcurrent Creek pont neuf

All which had piqued his interest had been a bird. Perhaps one of the sparrows he had watched on the edge of the Rosings pack; but it flit out of one tree and in to another, then another, and he only showed a mild interest in it. His pale gaze traced after the bird through the air, but soon he lost sight of the tiny thing. Perhaps it too would grow big like the tree, and lord over all.

While he had been made to call out, he had not expected any kind of rebuttal. Surely Renoir had not noticed the red-pelted girl, but she was there, suddenly. Drifting closer from behind him, and pausing briefly at the sapling. He paused in his own exploration when he saw the glimmer of rufus tones between the trees, and found himself smiling softly once their gazes met.

Had she been there all along?

Renoir remains quiet and coy for a moment longer, his blue eyes drifting away from her - but his attention has not waned. His ears swivel atop his golden head and listen, just in case. Out of the blue he asks, it is a nice day, yes? hm, it was warm and balmy, almost like summer. The only difference was a tiny breeze that danced between the trees.