Sun Mote Copse You were dancing in your tube socks in our hotel room.

He moved in close - very close. She felt the tremble of his whiskers. She could taste his breath, feel it on her skin. There was a brief tremble down her spine, a sort-of animal thrill, but she discounted it as further agitation from her fall. Her back twinged a little bit; it would bruise over the course of a few hours thanks to the branches she had landed on, that was all.

When he mentioned something about borders she wasn't sure what he meant. Was it the ledge she had been standing on? Maybe a particular line of trees..? Her brow creased, made more emphatic because of the pumpkin orange marks there. If you'll let me? He asked. Not knowing how to respond, Blackheart nodded her long face. She was not concerned with where he might lead her - she trusted him. There was no reason not to.

Even after taking a few strides in pursuit of him, Blackheart slowed and at the last moment stopped. She blinked at the back of his head, the autumnal amalgamation of his coat as the sun scythed through the trees to vivify it. There, she tilts her head and opens her mouth, wanting to ask something impulsive: What if I want to stay? But, she shuts her mouth a beat later, and begrudgingly resumes her pace.