Heron Lake Plateau si quelque chose pourrait jamais être aussi bon

It was nothing was not the words that she would hear next. No, it was the footfalls that drew themselves up to the wall of greenery she had immersed herself in. It was the sound of him, this relative stranger, picking up the traces of where she had been peering moments ago. It was him, who looked in through the foliage to find her in what was both an uncomfortable and embarrassing situation. But no laughter peeled off, no anger. It was a look of concern that met her along with inquiry to solidify its stance.

And she, wide-eyed at the invasion and predicament, locked up for a response.

”I—,” she began, her voice strained. She wasn't all right, not in the slightest, but where to sit down and unpack that suitcase at? Instinctively she wanted to fight against the ivy again but knew logically it wasn't worth the battle. She could have tried to grab at the vines but again, where to begin? They were numerous and tangled, pulled taut by her feeble efforts to break free.

”I got caught,” she managed finally, tugging gently as though she could defer what it was that she had been doing. ”I tried to get out when I heard you, I couldn't see who it was, or what it was.” Her words were rapid, threatening to toe the line of the panic that had very much spilled over into her sunken frame. She had certainly been caught in more than one way.