The Sentinels wargemont

deirdre remembered this book when it had been surrounded by flowers. she drew nearer to it, and whispered, there were once lilacs here, and tulips, there... lavender bordered this very stream for miles. a soft smile, and to hide the tears that threatened to come, she moved into the water herself; she dipped her head beneath the cool liquid, and when she lifted her head she felt her eyes prick with a separate wetness. small diamonds emerged, but from her thick lashes water seeped, and any tear at all was truly hard to distinguish. but she did not account for her forlorn eyes, misty in their sadness, and distant with the faraway memory. she emerged from the water, still having the height of a growing child, and yet her soaked furs clung to already voluptuous hips that foretold of the woman she would become. she drew toward a redwood to lean against its supportive weight, thinking only of her lost friends, then, and painfully aware of their absence.

and then she remembered the frenchman! she glanced to him, abashed that her mind had drifted so, and swallowing her sadness. deirdre took to grooming herself slowly, throwing herself into the task with such gusto with the intent to forget, and think only of this.

#200 !!!!!!!!1