Duck Lake [m] Let it go, paint my body gold

He followed, and she knew him then. The gilded girl led him on featherfeet around the lake until it stood between them and the Creek, until suddenly he drew close. His breath was warm against her nape. Time turned soft and liquid; each second another eternity.
Her own breath shimmered in her throat and emerged as a low and longing rumble. Hunger; a formless thing, coiling in her chest, a lightning strike down her spine and — lower — ! Here and now, tethered to her like threaded sunlight, but —
But it led away from him. Her wanting growl broke off into a whine. She looked at him and then away, toward where the scent led. She was torn; she wanted him, but this feeling, this want; no, there was no sense in it, none at all. She didn't know. She pressed into his touch and hoped he would know.