The Heartwood eye for an eye, heart for a heart

He watched her move to the flowers, arranging them blythely, before her attention shifted so easily back to him. Mojag basked in the glow of her attention; she seemed at once so warm, inviting—desirable. When she expressed herself as empty-handed he would have explained, a gift was a gift. It was not a trade—he expected nothing.

As he opened his mouth, what she said next made him softly gasp. A—kiss? Suddenly there was no noise to the forest around them, no murmuration of the wind in the trees; he could feel the pounding of his racing pulse, but even that was a feeling and not a sound. His eyes averted down a moment, not under his own command but out of some shy, bashful, worshipful feeling.

I would cherish a kiss. What a fool! How could he put a voice to such a thing! He was not a man who would trade for affection; yet here he was, clearly having found himself in this situation. 'Why not? You are healthy, you are young, and kind, and wanting nothing from her. She is happy—maybe this is a way to show her appreciation. A gift, from the Sidhe-people.'

Shifting a little, unsure of what exactly to do (as if he, a grown man, had never been kissed! Well—it was the truth) and finally, looking at her with that warm, bright expression.