Lion Head Mesa tearstain

The falling leaf shifted in tone, speaking at once that they mustn’t be with each other, that she did not know what the queen asked of her.

Arsenio felt his stomach sink, disappointment clenched his jaw. He knew better than to give in to his desires, to the wants that played throughout his mind each day. The Greek longed for the fragrance of her pelt upon his chest, to feel the warmth of her slender figure. He wished he had the words to assure her of this, to tell her that she was almost always on his mind.

The older man rested his chin atop her head and drew her closer to him.

I could not. I could not think poorly of you, he grunted, aware of how tactless it seemed. He only wanted her to feel honesty in his words. They did not need to be beautiful, and yet Arsenio wanted to make them so. He wanted to sprinkle flowers upon his tongue and whisper poetry into her ears.

You have bewitched me, autumn leaf.

The guard sighed, pressing himself closer to her, wanting only to feel her near him.