Stavanger Bay Troverai quella mia timidezza

He was called Skua and he thought it was peculiar - barely two syllables, sounding more like an exclamation that had become a name by happenstance.

A wanted prince, he mused. You make it sound a lot more romantic. His life to him had been nothing more than a mulch of hour bleeding into hour punctuated by the occasional flare of terror.

They'd be foolish to do that. Secretly he hoped that he would wake up to rough hands urging him awake, his feet skittering across the floor as someone dragged him back to that forest. Such an event would be a humiliation but it would also cement his importance, being someone dangerous enough to pin to a cork board, a sepia-toned mugshot glowering beneath the words WANTED.

He would never disclose this fantasy to anyone.

On your way out? He squinted up; Skua's face was dark and backlit, handsome even from below. It's funny - it seems like I'll never see you again.