Swiftcurrent Creek frog

His gaze lingered back up toward her face—her eyes fast upon him, knowing and daring.

Fire and poison, he decided then.

The smart thing to do would be to remove himself from the situation entirely—benefits of such antics had led him to nothing but heartache in a multitude of ways.

Wordless and soundlessly, he stalked toward the creek edge, near to her. His gaze did not linger on her now, instead, focused upon the waters that rushed past—never still. Chaotic in motion.

Yet another symbol in life.

“I’ll help you carry these to Arlette.”

Because if he lingered longer, he held a belief they would both become victim to something else entirely—and he could already hear the devil on his shoulder sneering his encouragement.

The angel on his shoulder? Well, she was now gone to the taiga.