Silverlight Terrace viii. wash away the stained skin,

aras dipped her head in a slight, jerky nod -- finding she could not meet sandulf's bright gaze for long. it was as if the air had become thin and fragile between them. the hart felt the scars along her haunch tug numbly as she curled them beneath her, head ducking as she shyly fought off the way her smile wished to widen. 

both seemed to take a moment to compose themselves. fumbling, awkward in their attempts of intimacy. 

it was a relief, for once, to not be alone in this. endearing him to her further. 

good ear perking as the scout's next words hit it, lótë peeked up at him once more. 

"i'm sure i will," the hunter assured readily, a fond grin flitting over her lips. "it sounds much like the land of many elms."