Deepwood Weald Hehehorf

CRACKS KNUCKLES

He arrived just in time to hear and see the last visages of the blackbird flapping away through the mist. There, his lover materialized, a hazy, beautiful splotch of black ink on a white canvas. This was a place where he could feel at home. The lack of cover provided by the trees was made up for by the mist. The sense of security that he felt from the wall of rock flanking the north of the territory and the moonstone canyons towards the south were but added commodities. The Weald was perfect.

Are we not creatures of the night anymore? asked Damien teasingly as he approached from behind, referring to the unusual time of their appointment. While he would much rather spend his time under the cover of darkness, he couldn't deny that his lover looked stunning under the tenuous lights of dawn.