The Sentinels wargemont

deirdre did not once feel his eyes, innocent and oblivious to the desires of wanting men, and worked away at herself. she thought nothing as he drew alongside her, continuing her own administrations to herself, removing small branches and unknotting burrs from herself with a practiced and wise gentleness. there were some out of her reach, but her father usually attended to those, or her mother, or her adored emaleth, who was her sun and sky, its all-encompassing warmth.

deirdre worked at everything in her reach until she was nearly pristine, each fur neatly in place that she could touch. her emerald eyes looked dreamily toward him as she thought of her flowers, and as she blinked the tired sadness away, she wondered if he wished, now, to continue where they had left off. she wished for comfort, but the comfort of her family, or of tachyon, or her friend, osprey. she did not yet feel comfortable enough with the man alongside her to lean against him, and the redwood was there to support her, her scaffold.