Phoenix Maplewood pieces of eight

as quickly as he was there, he pulled away.
they shared a look; maybe she saw a smoulder in his gaze, maybe she was confused by the riot of juvenile hormones within her body spelling disaster at every turn. so she looked away, focused on the skeleton.
yes, they should go.
he was already leaving her there — she took one last punch at the skull, listened to the neck bones rattle. when she looked back, she saw his retreating figure and felt a warmth in her chest like her heart was going to burst out of it.
a feeling she would covet, and swallow down. a feeling she might choke on if she let it take over. within minutes she was following him back to camp, the bones forgotten.