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[dukes_daughter]

Ganymede's hair is getting long again. It reaches nearly to her shoulders now, and curls in to frame her face, emphasizing the softness of her jaw, the roundness of her cheeks. As Ganymede, it is always a bit of a mess, curls and cowlicks everywhere. Rosalind has brushed it out now, though, smooth and soft, like it was when she was was a princess,

Comments

[hunt_theheart]

*and look in someone does--smiling, laughing, shaking his head* I know not what to call thee, thus arrayed--!

[dukes_daughter]

*she starts and whirls around, but smiles to see him* Nor I, good friend.

[hunt_theheart]

*entering, curling his fingers through her hair* 'Tis wild as mine own locks, and yet so fine-- *his own hair has suffered for lacking a cut; it's probably almost down to his shoulderblades these days, worn tied back today and curling a little madly*

[dukes_daughter]

*laughs* Thine own is madder yet than mine.

[hunt_theheart]

An Valentine should say no word, 'twill bide. I do at times look ill to vex the man, for 'tis a sport that I love passing well--and have since youth, when he first learned to love the cut of fabric and the match of hue. *sitting at her feet, cross-legged* And for thyself? What pleases thee of late?

[dukes_daughter]

*laughing again* And art thou oft triumphant? *but at his question, looks a little more thoughtful* And me? I like well the winter, though long now for the spring. 'twould please me to know who I am, but think I never shall. *pushes down off of the chair to sit down next to him* I did miss thee.

[hunt_theheart]

*curling against her shoulder, his arm around her waist* And I missed thee, in winter or in spring--in fine, bright dresses, or in shepherd's clothes.

[dukes_daughter]

*smiles up at him, then looks back down and runs her hands through her hair* Wouldst-- cut it? It doth, I fear, mark me too much a maid.

[hunt_theheart]

*grin* I care not; an thou wish it, let it grow, or cut it to the quick upon thy head.

[dukes_daughter]

I know not. *with a laugh, a shrug* I would have none guess that I would not tell, but like not to see it shorn away.

[hunt_theheart]

Dost feel thyself more man than woman? For I know not which thou art at times, I fear.

[dukes_daughter]

Nor I. Is't not strange?

[hunt_theheart]

*hairruffle* 'Tis strange, and wondrous, and I like it well.

[dukes_daughter]

*leans against him, feeling almost relieved* Then I shall think not of't.

[hunt_theheart]

*a quick kiss to her cheek* Thy heart tends toward men only, like the point of an unerring compass to the north--and so thou knowest not the joy I find in loving man and woman in one soul.

[dukes_daughter]

Thinkest thou 'tis much different from mine in loving thee?