Swiftcurrent Creek golden

homg

lestan would have hugged her then, maybe pulled away to point out a kingfisher or cardinal or oh, OH —
his heart raced faster; he could hardly catch his breath, and it shuddered against reverie's mouth. 
then the mayfair did remember himself, and soon the little golden witchling of kvarsheim was held against the fluttering joy of his heart.
"goodness," lestan managed after they had parted a little. he felt the desire rising again, this time not so sharply, not so chaotically, something warm and wanting and unsure.
"it is — you are such a joy to me, reverie."