Sun Mote Copse again, a place to fall

A twist in the copse.

A man walked in - a cloak of red over his back, eyes of gentle amber. The early dawn of youth still gleamed in him.

Another story-singer...?

Had she seen him before...? No, no, she had not. An unfamiliar shyness was there in his face. But there seemed to be a knowing, a string that told them they both walked the same path.

"Good morning" - a common greeting around these parts, it seemed. The morning is fine, indeed, she replied. Was that the correct reply? She could not tell - but if it was not, then it could simply be woven into another song.

What did the copse tell you today? she asked. It did not matter what rumors he heard in the grass and trees. She simply wanted to know what kind of tune he sung.