Swiftcurrent Creek compa

there was something between wren and eshe, something inarticulate and something that left a thin unwritten film on her proverbial skin. call it intuition and other sundries. unwittingly silvertongue perhaps blundered toward the point; "i do not want to stop seeing them. not yet," she breathed out with no small fear that wren would be upset to hear it. "and i wanted to tell you myself, rather than assuming." tonguetip hovering; "what do you think?"