Sun Mote Copse Love me like you love the sun

A peeping Tom. A night stalker. He would watch her soak in the lake of the falls under the twilight of moon. When the little Nymph dips and then rises, she is aglow, silvered and blue shines all over.

Hemlocke takes in a sharp breath, in awe of the beauty of the scenery before him. The quiet of it. The comforting simplicity of it.

The hellhound shifts, quietly lifting from his lay and into a stand so that he might obtain an unhindered view. Though he does not bother to think (transfixed by her) that she too might see him.