Wapun Meadow tiptoe

Irene tilted her head, her emerald eyes shimmering with a playful glint as she regarded Ameline. She let the silence hang for a moment, just long enough to make it feel intentional, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. 

First time in this meadow, she began, her voice soft and smooth, carrying an almost musical lilt. But not my first time in lands like these. I know how the wind carries here, how the trees whisper when no one is listening. Her gaze flicked toward the treeline Ameline had gestured to, then back, locking eyes with a subtle intensity. And I’ve learned how to spot the best places—the ones worth remembering.

She took a single, unhurried step closer, her movements fluid, as if she were a srand of light slipping through the openings of a lush canopy of trees. The air between them seemed to shift as she tilted her head again, letting the faintest smirk play on her features. 

You must like it here quite a bit, she said, her tone warm but edged with intrigue. The way you talk about it... It’s almost like the meadow belongs to you. She let the words linger, almost as though she were teasing, yet her expression remained sincere, her interest genuine.