Bramblepoint witless or wise

Zeal watched in contentment as the afternoon light spilled through the leaves, illuminating a bramble blossom in its simple perfection. The same warm light danced upon her silver coat, glinted from her eyes more brightly than any jewel. For a moment longer, just another moment, he wished to stay lost in this quiet reverie with her.

Then there was the far away cry of a raven, coarse and grating, and the man shifted begrudgingly from his restful position at last, returning to the world once more.

Turning toward the silvery woman he had shared the afternoon with, he ran his gaze along her form once more, taking in the whole picture of her. "I never asked your name," he hummed gently, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "I'm Zeal," he offered simply, unused to dealing in such social graces. He felt conflicted about his name itself now, but he had none other to offer her in exchange. There was still a warmth in his chest, but now there was a new flush of heat rising to his ears. What spell had possessed them such that they were only now exchanging introductions, there could only be one explanation. Zeal was not a stranger to this, but following their shared experience of intimacy, he felt oddly exposed.