Sun Mote Copse but you're holding me like water in your hands

Warm brown melts into deep scarlet, stares meeting for a brief moment before Wren's is lost and transfixed on the visibly bony spine of her lover. She is lukewarm, and for a minute, she thinks of the sweet boy from the woods to the East. How he looked at her with calmness and innocence, patient hunger over the ravenous kind. 
Colt was good in a different way. Or maybe he wasn't so good at all. 
What he had said was not an invitation, and she wouldn't take it as such. Not that she wanted it to be. She laughs, the kind of sad laugh that one would let out to lighten a mood, and she isn't smiling. I've done enough runnin', for now, I think.