Fox's Glade In Restless Dreams, I walked Alone

Dance: an art, a language, a feeling, a certain sort of magic to the act of moving in a way that had meaning. Reverie felt it alive in herself like some otherworldly beast, burning with its own will. When it reared and twisted and grasped for the breeze she could do nothing but follow. Freedom with an asterisk; she would always be bound to this, the slimmest of threads tying her to whim and whimsy. Dancing through the woods on wild feet, she couldn't bring herself to care. She traced and crossed the scents of foxes with her steps, wove between the trees, centered herself around them by turns. A flash of gold flitting through the forest.
Until...
She felt the presence more than heard or scented, but she did those too. The sound of footsteps and water, the scent of Swiftcurrent Creek as she drifted closer on dancing feet. Yet it was not Lestan, and for that she was relieved. Reverie allowed the dance to die away, and with it all of the wild energy she'd felt, and stepped toward the tall dark man at the water. He was beautiful; surreal, blue-eyed, silver-haloed along brow and cheekbone. Her head ducked a little shyly as she looked at him with starry eyes, uncertain if he was real or imagined in this moment.