Hushed Willows as spring opens (touching, skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

The willows, he had decided, were a strange place that had produced a strange girl. There was a soulful, whispering quality to the breeze that he thought he recognized in his young guide, and the way it the whiplike branches was much akin to the lithe, dancer's body slinking appealing before him.

Regardless of her intentions, Kincaid was sure he was being both tested and teased. What results she desired were a mystery to him, but he was just as certain the impish girl would get her way. This, he thought, was quite agreeable to him.

"Where are we going?" he asked her, splitting his attention between the scenery, which was different enough from what he'd seen in the past to be quite interesting, and her slim hindquaters, where she seemed to be directing his attention with some amount of purpose. His heart beat a bit unevenly at the idea — he hoped, at least, that she could be convinced to allow him close again, but there was no reason to go getting excited in a stranger's land. Down, boy, he commanded himself, but he still watched her walk. Of course he did.