Firefly Glen Sayin' "who are you and where are you from?"

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As they were wrapped in one another’s embrace, scents intermingling, she could think of no other place that she’d rather be. Yet, as there came a rumbling from his chest, she couldn’t keep her figure from tensing up. The sound, deep but without anger, sent a shiver down her spine. It was similar to a growl, the depths and origins identical to one another, but the noise itself stemmed not from aggression. It was different, and delightfully so, gradually filling her stomach with over a thousand butterflies. Her body, once taut, was slackened; for it to be anything but had turned into a challenge, the trust she put in the boy disallowing her frame to remain rigid. This she could not understand, however, for her conscious insisted that she should not be acting so recklessly. It was only moments ago that she had crashed into him, and yet, when she thought of their sudden meeting, it felt to her as if the events had taken place years ago. At the thought, she smiled, pulled from her mind moments later as his voice—muffled but recognizable—filled her ears. It seemed as if he needed to be assured of her comment, and so she gave a slow nod of her head.

When they pulled away, the sudden loss of warmth delivered a harsh slap to her whole body. A shiver, which she had tried to suppress, ran the length of her spine without any care. Her body, though having grown used to being without another at its side, rejected her decision to move away from the male. It ignored the warmth of the spring night, deciding, instead, that it wanted more—a desire that could not be fought, for how could she possibly act against her own soma? Before she could bury her face back into his fur, she was stopped by yet another compliment; surely, if he kept this up, she would become spoiled! Becoming flustered, she looked passed him, avoiding eye contact. “I-I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, struggling to find her voice. “Thank you.” Be mindful of your manners, she reminded herself, wishing not to come off as conceited. The longer she remained with the boy, the greedier she felt, looking forward to each and every compliment that he could think to say. It wasn’t the least bit like her, she was sure of that, and yet she could not help herself.

From the night she stole a breath, inhaling its essence with the hope that she might be bestowed with a surge of bravery—and the courage to speak was exactly what she’d been given. “You—” her voice faltered, only to be recovered with the swiftness of a fox. “You are very handsome!” Rushed, the words came out in a jumble. Soft eyes snapped up to meet his own before disappearing less than a second later, her face being hidden away in the thick fur of his chest. A compliment was often paid for with another compliment, but to say such words was far more difficult than she ever would have imagined—and awfully embarrassing, too!

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