The Sentinels wargemont

She spoke fondly of this place, of her friends, and Renoir thought of the beauty the world must have once held for her. As she slipped freely in to the water he continued to watch, holding still by the edge, transfixed by her. She dipped in, and when coming up for air he traced the contours of her young body with his eyes; he did not mean to, but was lured by her display. As if this was the intent she had all along — goading him, tempting him, for what purpose he was unsure. Then as she turned and caught his eye, Renoir's attention flit away from her (or seemed to), and he felt a warmth in the pit of his belly he had not felt since Monet.

As she began to tend to herself, Renoir silently approached the brook's slow moving waters, and descended. The fluid stripped him of his grime, his golden pelt floating out in the water as if to halo him, and then he pulled himself out - dripping as Deirdre had been before - and took up space beside her. He watched her with unabashed adoration while she groomed, then a heartbeat later turned his attention to himself. He was quick, so as not to alert her to his gaze, though Renoir felt a great desire to reach out and touch her damp fur or even help with her cleaning — he worked the dirt from his paws first, and then the rest of himself, hiding away all that he felt.