Fox's Glade my knees are cold

and she is not alone for very long. rala wonders, then, if dolce does the same as her ; if he, too, comes here, to where they had reunited, so that he may think, and so that he may reminisce, just as she does. pretty as a picture, dolce says, and at that, she chuckles. a 'picture'? what is that? lifting her head so her dark nose may brush against the side of his muzzle, while his own found the plush, pale fur of her cheek.

he asked, then, what she was doing out here. for a moment, she was uncertain of her answer, before she let out a breath and replied: i am thinking, her tone was naught but a quiet breath, as if a secret whispered to only him and the glade that kept them shielded from the sun that shone overhead. of things i am not sure i can ask of you, yet, she rolled onto her opposite side, now, so that she may rise to stand before him. of questions that i am afraid to ask, and terrified to hear the answers of.

there was a vulnerability twinkling within her gaze, one that was weary, and yet full of trust. before he could ask her of her questions, she gave a flick of her tail and turned away, giving him a mere glance over her shoulder before she would take slow steps away from him. what are you doing out here, dolce? here words were carried on a light, lilting voice. melodic in all ways one would think possible.

curious, nervous, once brash and unbothered ; now brimming with an affection that made her almost ... anxious, though perhaps it was her misinterpreting excitement in the moment. she turned back to look at him, now, watching.

waiting for him to draw closer.