Golden Glade And so the rain began again

The stranger’s gaze roved the sky above until he drew her attention to him—commanded it with the announcement of his presence. He was partially expecting to be met with a critical glance, perhaps even a snarl and bristled hackles. Instead, diminutive and gentle, she cast him a welcoming smile, and Pippin almost found himself perplexed at the prospect of it.

At first glance, he felt a creeping shame to find youthful beauty. Only as his eyes grazed over the swell of her hips and graceful curves did he realize she was only small in stature—and his mind shut down any further thoughts from such a dangerous matter.

The language she spoke fell from her lips and drew a quirked brow from the tawny rogue. The corner of his mouth tipped in light amusement, garnering that from her stance that whatever language she spoke to him, she wasn’t insulting or angered.

“I would ask you what that all means, but I can’t repeat it without butchering it,” he determined. So he stuck simply with: “So I’ll give you a ‘heya’ right back.” He paused, clearing his throat, forcing himself to look away from her momentarily. “You from around here? I’m Pippin.”