Lovely Surprise Me
Part XIII: Divinity
Next part!
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Lovely…
Touch your lips to mine.
Press through me.
Enchant me.
Lovely…
Make the dream come true.
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“To serve you like I promised that day.”
She blushed.
“Eh…that is after you help me get this part off.”
“Of course.” Like that day, his arms raised to assist. Carefully she moved it past his head. Chainmail could cut a person’s skin. It had to be remembered it was barely a piece of clothing, more a barrier against wound.
Arthur sighed peacefully, feeling much less burdened now. Reaching forward he pulled away too the woolen red gambeson, worn under the chainmail for comfort, revealing his familiar red tunic. Then gently he moved forward to kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”
She closed her eyes at his tender whisper.
Arthur took the bottle of wine, the cork popped open enough to make it easy to pour into the two goblets Merlin had provided them with. He studied each with a wry expression. “I think Merlin stole half of what we have here from the palace kitchens.”
She laughed. The trees branches folding over them, created a nature decorated cave. The blanket was soft to sit on, and the company was not terrible either. “Probably so.”
He handed her one of the goblets, taking the other for himself, and raising it. “Well, A Good Valentine’s Day to you My Lady.”
“And to you Sire.”
They clinked goblets and took a sip, before remarking simultaneously.
“Merlin.”
The rich variant taste made it clear, especially for the prince. It came from the king’s finest supply.
Arthur shook his head with cynical amusement. “He probably thinks I’m going to get him out of this one.”
Guinevere simply shrugged. “Of course you will. You LIKE him.”
He frowned at that like a stubborn little boy, but enjoyed the fine drink anyway. Then placing the goblet down carefully, he reached for the plates. “One for you…and one for me.”
Guinevere gestured with her hand. “I can help.”
Arthur gently pushed it away. “No…I have this.” He started to place bits of the food on their plates: fruit, cheeses, meats, and rye crackers. “It’s not as difficult as cooking chicken.”
She saw how he cocked his eyebrow, before handing her a now filled plate. “Did you really try…to cook it?”
Arthur affirmed quickly, layering his plate. “Sure…having no idea what to do with its rubbery legs, before Merlin thankfully came in. Really, it looked nothing like it does when it’s cooked, not even how it appears when it’s alive.”
For all his battle finesse, he really was so helpless in a kitchen. “Well of course Arthur! It’s been relieved of its feathers and all!”
He shrugged, plate filled. “That probably makes sense. You see though, I was just noticing how…scary it looked.”
She nearly choked on her wine, before gracefully enough putting the goblet back down.
They dined on portions of it all, the different varieties of cheeses layered with the crackers, and the meat cut into pieces easy to pick up with fingers. In between they enjoyed the fruit.
As Guinevere reached for her grapes, she accidentally dropped them onto the blanket.
Before she could pick them up, Arthur snatched them with a sly grin.
She reached to take them from him.
He quickly held them behind his back.
She frowned. “Those are the grapes you put on my plate. Will you not give them back to me?”
“No.”
Her frown deepened.
Arthur looked into her eyes. They were their lovely dark with more of that russet appearing in tiny flairs. He could tell she was beginning to feel as eased as he did, except for the fact that he had snatched her fruit. That was making her pretty orbs of vision just a bit fierier now. No demure one, his Guinevere. Hmmm…well he did plan on giving them back to her of course. He was a gentlemanly prince after all who would never be rude to a lady. He’d return them...
Eventually.
“Open your mouth.”
Hard inquiry filled her midnight orbs.
Lowering his eyes with fixed intent, he whispered,
“Part your lovely lips Guinevere.”
It was when he said her name, her full name. Or the lovely again. Or maybe the heady whisper. She did as he asked.
He watched with desire as they parted, opened to him, to her…fruit. Pulling one off, Arthur leaned in strongly, pressed one dark red grape in. The fruit was full and shining, ripe, almost as luscious as those lips he loved to kiss.
Her mouth closed over it softly as his fingers began their departure. She was too sensual, his mind no longer at all on food. Not the kind prepared by his servant anyway. Arthur slid further, lowered his fingers to catch right under her lips. His other hand traveled in firm incline to those much too tempting curls. Holding her like that, he tasted the fruit...mixed with her. Sweet and tantalizing against his yearning tongue.
His lips lowered, pressed in devotion against her neck. “Ah…divine.”
She closed her eyes, feeling the heat of his mouth, how it wetly now caressed her skin.
“Indeed my Lord.”
Slowly, the prince started to pull away, peering up at her opening eyes, touched with…novel passion. A satisfied smile touched his face, deepening the blue of his eyes. His fingers slid upward, tickling against her mouth.
“Something about when you call me that now. I’m starting to like it.”
She reached down to the plate, the bunch. Plucking her own off, she lowered his hand firmly. He was driving her delirious and giving her too delicious a pleasure.
Facing him fully intently, she instructed. “Your turn.”
His eyes widened at how she moved his hands down, and then livened at how she gave him such firm direction. This was it. Guinevere was sweet, kind, giving, and yet she had this agility in her that surprised. After all she was the woman who had pulled him away from a wild gargoyle-like creature. Remembering how she had pushed him down as it attacked again, saving him from injury and giving him the most…interesting view, Arthur smiled fully now.
It was…his pleasure to part his lips, to open them for her treat.
Guinevere slid forward across the blanket, her fingers holding loosely the round red grape. She gently slid it into his waiting mouth, feeling how his lips started to close over before she could get one finger fully out. She lowered her face to his, feeling the heat as their lips blended into it all. Feeling him let her finger go finally. The taste was so delicious, rich and strong.
She pulled back, with just inching retreat.
Arthur licked at his upper lip, patted his lap.
Guinevere’s eyes lowered with question.
He tried to be cavalier about it, and yet a bit too affected to allow it being that simple. “When I woke that day it was to your…face, to the softest pillow I’ve ever had. Well if my mission was to serve you then, I still have one obligation to fulfill…
Don’t I?
Lay your head down My Lady.”
He kissed the back of her hand, holding tightly at it.
His fingers knotted through hers. She gave up any protest or inquiry, feeling her body lowering ever so delicately, finding the most luxurious landing. It was madness. It was her dream. It was the day of the vial. It was fantasy, and yet wasn’t the vial only supposed to enhance what was already desired?
He reached for the bunch, thinking how disorderly this was. How nice that little fact was. How gorgeously her curls lay around her precious face right now, telling him to do it. “Get ready.” He advised. She lifted her head slightly. He lowered the bunch directly over.
This was utterly insane.
Utterly insanely divine.
She closed her teeth around one, pulled.
Just as she did Arthur lowered his mouth over hers.
His Lady.
Her Lord.
They kissed, wetly experiencing the heat.
So sweet.
So spiced.
As breathing ached its necessity, they pulled apart, the unlocking sound filling the wind.
She sighed with rapture as his passionate smile touched his lips. His oh so blue eyes of the sky were right above hers. Past them she could see the beautiful canopies.
Merlin really had picked the most romantic place, she thought distantly…
As Arthur’s lips slipped over hers.
Again.
And…
Again.
He held at her thick curls, deeply digging his fingers through.
She held at his cheeks…grasping feverishly.
The kiss glowed like the sun’s present fire. It filled them with the dark moon’s preceding desire…
Mouths could not stay sealed forever though.
They half parted.
She breathed fast under him. He watched the rise and fall of her blossomed chest, yearnings invading.
“I never want to spend this day with any other.
Never.”
“Me either.” She whispered back.
He started to kiss her again, but Guinevere this time pushed at his chest.
Arthur ran his top lip over his bottom one agitatedly. She was right. This felt more divine than anything, and yet he was a prince who needed to take some responsibility. That vial really had opened up everything, and yet reality had its limits.
A day would come, he could only hope.
When they’d stay on a blanket like this…
Her head so preciously in his lap…
A day when he’d feed her the whole…
Bunch.
That day just needed to find its right time.
He worked up a smile, lifted at her shoulders, before holding fast to her hand. “Come on My Lady. Let’s go take a walk.”
She smiled too. This was the difference of the vial’s day. This was her Arthur who knew when things needed to pause and showed no anger for it at all…
Just maybe a bit of frustration she thought wryly.
No matter. She had her own.
“Yes Sire.”
She accepted his assistance.
Hand in hand, they walked out of the canopied area, coming forward to where the river so nicely met the creek.
Away from the little oasis, Guinevere began to think strongly again. She noticed how the sky was darkening just a touch. Merlin had said her duties were being taken over for the afternoon, but this night she should be there to help fulfill her part, right?
Soon though, she saw…
It.
And stared.
Standing beside her, noticing her upward attention, Arthur asked. “What are you looking at with so much interest?”
“Oh no, it’s nothing.”
Arthur frowned with an expression that told her not to lie. Secrets had led them to a whole heap of issues these past days.
She didn’t need him to say anything to get it.
“Okay…you’ve heard of it before, right? The mating birds.”
Arthur shrugged. “Sure. Everyone makes such a big fuss about it. You know what I mean. They’re always saying that they come out first on the 14th…today.”
“Right, Valentine’s Day. But have you heard of this hill in front of us, across the river?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve crossed over its twin, on the side closer to the river’s fullness, for observation purposes and such before battle. Is there something special about this one?”
She knew what hill he was talking about. This one she had never crossed, nor that one. The hill he spoke of was supposed to be more unadorned, just some wild grasses and tree clusters. This hill though, had a special significance.
“Just some of the servants/workers say that it is where you can see the mating birds the best. It has many full branching trees perfect for nesting, and a myriad of colorful surrounding flowers.”
“I don’t see any of that.”
Guinevere affirmed what he said with backing reason. “Well you can’t see it when you’re on the other side of the river. They say you have to cross and walk within the trees to view it clearly.”
She came in now with a tight laugh. “I suppose you think it’s silly, the mating bird story and all.”
Arthur shrugged. “Sure, but then most Valentine ones are.”
She nodded with resignation.
“Doesn’t mean I think it’s silly to check it out, together.”
Guinevere smiled, before she remembered once again the passing hour. The sun was fading from the sky, making its first descent. “No, as pleasant as this has been-
He cut her off. “Guinevere. The note made it very clear that everything was arranged beyond the early evening. Neither of us needs to go back yet.”
She looked hesitant still. Arthur gestured backward. “We left the swords. Festive day even, I’m not comfortable leaving them where any suspecting enemy could easily snatch them up. I’ll be right back.” He grasped at her waist quickly from behind. “You wait here.”
Guinevere simply nodded her head, looking out at the water. It was so peaceful, and with the sun just setting now, it sparkled with golden glimmer.
What was he thinking though, that they would-
Arthur came back now, having sheathed both swords a bit awkwardly at either side. They were heavy, but it was like he said, not good to keep a weapon out in the open.
Guinevere turned to him.
Arthur smiled. The sun with its now midway position, blushed its light over her already rose cheeks. The gentle sways of the river’s shallowest spot created the prettiest little silhouette behind.
He walked over to her slowly, touching at her cheek with his fingers. “You truly are a lovely sight Guinevere.”
She ignored his words, brought her hands up his sides, touching at his chest. “Arthur, I don’t understand. The only way to get to the hill is to cross the river.”
He reached out for one of those wandering curls, lifting it behind her ear. “Of course.” Seeing her concerned look, he filled in quickly. “It’s not that cold, nor is it that deep, plus it’s much calmer as you can probably see, than it is where the river flows fullest. So no worries.”
Smiling with encouragement, Arthur stepped away from her and started to remove his boots, before rolling his pant legs up. Shrugging, since he seemed to think it would be no big deal, Guinevere rolled some of her cloak, wrapping the rest around her shoulder so it wouldn’t drag. Then she lifted at the long skirts of her dress, bringing it above her ankles.
“Ready?”
She nodded.
He reached for her hand, having to latch onto her wrist as her fingers were busy holding at her dress. Together they stepped into the rippling stream.
Guinevere commented with light surprise. “It is much warmer than the river further up, and it flows so much more softly.”
“Well like Merlin said, it’s more a creek. This is where the river truly becomes its calmest, before it simply ends.”
They took further steps in, reaching just slightly deeper waters with each one, the progression of its depth lazy. It was a relaxed stroll and yet as the water heightened against her legs, reaching past her shins, Guinevere tightened her fingers to lift her flowing skirts even higher. After a bit she pulled away from the prince’s grip on her wrist, all her focus now on keeping her new dress from becoming too soaked, her face tight with the struggling effort.
Taking a glance, Arthur knew she was having trouble, and it would only increase. At its deepest, the creek would probably reach her knees, nothing horrible except for the fact that it made her walk, what should be a pleasurable one, instead a frustrating trek.
Silently, he grasped at her waist, getting it tight under his hand. Then stretching out his other arm, he bent slightly, catching under her knees. Holding to those two areas, he lifted her away from all her dilemma.
Guinevere gasped, holding tight to his shoulders as his hands strongly made her feel as if she was flying through the air for a second, before she was settled against his chest. “Arthur?”
He smiled with light teasing. “Well we can’t have your dress getting wet can we? Not your new one.”
One of his hands held still at her waist, as the other gripped under her legs, all the layers of the red and burnt pink now lifted fully away from the water, as the ride he was providing her negated any type of wetness. Her hands now freed from their arduous task, she lifted them around his neck, feeling the slight roughness of his familiar red tunic shirt. It was one he wore often and so it probably was staring to wear some. And yet he still wore it, something she thought interesting, with the fact that he could be a bit vain at times about his attire. This shirt must be one of his favorites.
Its redness was perfect with the occasion it was, and matched also nicely what she was wearing, all protected now and realized for its novelty, by him. That sparked her wonder. “You know that it’s new?”
His load was barely one even at that, her weight simple for his battle strengthened arms to carry, and pleasurable was indeed the warmth she created against his chest. Continuing to step through the shallow waters, barely reaching his knees at all, he shrugged what was obvious. “Of course. It’s very pretty too.”
“I made it.”
He lifted his eyebrows with teasing to her face, so close to his now, so easy to witness the way her cheeks softly blushed and her midnight eyes shined through the sun’s last fiery glimmers. They were reaching the halfway spot now, the splashes of water from his movement gently tickling at his skin. Soon it would descend in height all the way to where it wetly kissed the dry land at the base of the hill.
“Well you can make just about anything, can’t you? Swords, chicken, flower ties for your hair, what’s next?”
He winked.
“Oh I know…
Deer Heads.”
She frowned tightly, that horrible poor thing sitting with its beady eyes in his room swimming back into her memory. Releasing one hand from his neck, she hit at his chest with complaint. “That is not at all funny.”
He chuckled. “I think it is.”
Before she could move her hand away he caught at it, and stopped his walking, the water now reaching once again barely to his shins.
Guinevere took it to mean the ride was over, with good reason as there were very few steps left before the hill’s bottom, and she wouldn’t have as much trouble lifting her skirts here. Her fingers at his neck started to slide away, causing him to shake his head.
“You’re not going to put me down?”
Not yet answering, he kept his right hand under her legs, as his left pressed to her hand that was against his chest. He lowered it a bit before he was satisfied, and returned his hand to support her back and shoulders.
He took it in, how what was happening above beautifully affected what was in his arms. The sun played its last show of the day before the moon’s time of dominance could laugh it away, tantalizing every soul with its dark mysterious display. Above them, gliding slivers of blue, scarlet and violet played their game, competing for reigning hue. The shine that all cast upon her upturned face was gorgeous, enhancing the russet flair of her watching eyes.
“Not ever if I don’t have to.”
She became aware of it now, as his answer filled her with wonder. His hand had pressed hers so firmly there, and now it beat against her fingers, telling them how alive the being carrying her was. She looked up, seeing the colors above frolicking with last day’s delight. It made her smile before her eyes found his again.
Arthur smiled too. If the day was to start its demise, then let it always be this heavenly. The wind complained about its abandoned state as it now too joined in, creating a light delicious breeze. All the scents of nature surrounded them in effect, softly, elegantly.
Guinevere didn’t confess it. She had no desire to be placed back on the ground, his arms too luxuriously warm and strong.
He silently knew what he wouldn’t yet admit, that the reason for his increased heart rate was her closeness, so vividly that.
Realism’s reminder, time couldn’t stand still always.
The sun lowered some more, gently warning them that day was not ever meant to last forever. With her hand still holding at his heart, her fingers lightly caressing there with such tender wanderings, he started up the walk again.
With such an up close view of all his features, she noticed something she’d never before. Gently she touched at it, seeing how it fell right behind his ear, where no one, except an intimate relation would see.
Or her right now.
“What happened to you here?”
Arthur knew almost instantaneously the spot she meant, the very slight scar.
“I hurt myself when I was about five, actually doing a clumsy ‘Merlin’ move. I was practicing my sword swing, you know with a…child sized sword then…at the top of the steps and I slipped down. Hit my head as I landed at the bottom. I remember my father came running down those steps. He picked me up and…wouldn’t let me…cry. Not so much in a mean way, he just talked to me and made me want to laugh instead. And Gaius fixed it all up, but it left what…you saw now.”
She thought how he must have been scared, falling down Camelot’s sometimes steep staircases, injuring himself, just a young child. It must have at least been comforting to have his father there telling him it would be alright.
She recalled it, one day when she had been a little girl, falling over some logs of firewood. She hit hard her knees and bit down so hard on her lip it bled along with the scraped part of her skin. Soon though, he scooped her up in his big thick arms and consoled her that all would be fine. She had burrowed her head, curls and all against her Dad’s strong chest.
Now closing her eyes with emotion, she let her head fall against Arthur’s. It was not the same pair of arms, and yet something about them was just as magical, in some significantly altered way that signaled her ascent to womanhood.
He lifted her face just slightly enough to kiss at her brow, whispered with care, “Are you thinking of your father Guinevere?”
She wondered how he could know, and yet she didn’t ask it, just nodded her head with a one word answer, eyes still closed, cheek still pressed to his chest. “Yes.”
Looking up at the sky, at the myriad of colors, at the sun starting to glare too strongly as it lowered even more, Arthur wondered pensively what to say. Nothing seemed right, fair, truthful…
Enough.
So instead he lifted his mouth to her forehead, above her nose, and to her lips, as his wet feet finally touched upon the dry land. Soft. Lilting. A kiss meant to be carried away by the breeze. To comfort and just.
Feeling the tall grass prickling against his skin, he moved down to sit upon it, keeping her there in his grasp.
She looked up finally as her position felt changed, seeing his smile quiet on his face. There was no hatred in hers. It was a wasted emotion. There was just emptiness for such person. And yet the man was…his father. And so that tempered it, made her look at all that was…good. “Your father loves you very much. He is my king and I honor him for that, but…”
It was too hard to continue it. He’d be a brute if he made her. Arthur caught at her hand, tangling her delicate fingers between his larger ones. “I know…and I know why.”
The play of colors paused above them, seeming to hold still with respect.
That was enough for her, and enough of this conversation. She was not one to continue painful topics too deeply, and that was where else they were ever so similar. “Yes…well and you must let me go, sitting or not, before your arms fall asleep Sire for holding me so long.”
He laughed at that, but lifted away his arms to allow her to sit down on the ground beside him. “I doubt that would ever happen. You’re light as a feather Guinevere.”
“That is too much cliché. No person is that ridiculously weightless.”
Arthur chuckled more, realizing she had purposely changed the topic, and maybe a bit cowardly allowing her to do so. It was too hard to discuss. It was too hard to defend.
The sky’s fun started up again, the purples taunting the pink as they cascaded with control. The blue could only wait until night approached and its dominance reigned supreme, as the sun’s glare still stayed strong, its one last act of belligerence before the moon teasingly appeared.
His hand lowered down to hers, grasped at her fingers. She smiled up at him, catching just beyond his face the show of colors.
“Well come on, let’s go find this…Valentine inspiring place.” He pulled her up to her feet so they could start the trek up the hill, a gently sloping one that wouldn’t take too much effort.
Yet all he could see was tall grasses around them and maybe a small cluster of trees up above that didn’t seem very impressive…
After a good stretch of their climb, he asked, “Are you sure it’s this hill?”
Feeling the grasses tickling at her bare feet, Guinevere nodded. “Yes.” She brought her head down some, speaking so quietly he had to strain to hear. “Only I didn’t tell you it all.”
“What do you mean?”
This much further, something was becoming noticeable. That tree cluster that appeared so insignificant below, was much fuller in reality.
She did not answer his question so Arthur stopped now, grasped tightly at her hand. “Guinevere.”
She looked up into his eyes, bits of golden sun’s last stand floating through them, ever so beautifully handsome. “Before we came to Camelot, my Dad and I, he once brought my mother here. To this hill. They watched the mating birds together. They really did see them Arthur. Months later she was…gone.”
His eyes widened, before they saddened. She said it so bravely, and yet the pain, the hurt he felt at having lost his own mother. At least, he still had his father. At least…
Taking a step forward, he held at her waist.
She moved her hands up around his back, touching desperately. His warmth was all she needed right now. Feeling his arms wrap tighter, that solid pressure of his fingers finding her curls and locking in there, she closed her eyes, let her head fall against his chest.
He whispered. “I never saw mine. You know that.”
She did. They talked about it once. No words right now could console the fact and she had little strength to anyway.
“Was she as beautiful as you?”
Guinevere smiled, the words surprisingly lightening. She didn’t always feel a true beauty, but in his eyes she knew she was solidly one. “She had curls too…stubborn hair like me.”
He murmured. “Just as beautiful then.” It was one of his favorite features of hers. He loved that they refused to obey, that they almost cried out to be…tamed.
Before they laughed away your fingers, saying, you’ll never succeed, but I’ll let you keep trying anyway. I’ll tempt you.
Her hands left his back. Her head lifted. She touched at his cheeks, looked up at him with wonder. The golden red that was winning mostly now, shadowed her face with dazzling light. “It is mostly why I wanted to come here. I would know this place any day, any time. My mother described it so vividly in this book that my father gave me, with poems and stories…some by other writers, some by…her hand. Her heart. The rose you gave me, it lies inside that book Arthur. It lies within the story of this place, right on that page. Its dried petals press there.”
She lifted her lips to his. Quietly he gave in to her kiss, touched by all her words, understanding now why she had a way with them sometimes. The wind provided its gentle breeze as their lips wettened to the warm heat of each other. As it took seconds for them to fully part.
This was the feeling that was forbidden and so couldn’t be spoken out loud.
And yet their hearts knew.
Their mouths.
Their eyes.
All transfixed.
He swallowed, lowering his hand back down to hers. They started walking again, with new meaning, new determination. This place would have to be very special.
Its story was.
Some more steps and they reached it, the huddling of trees. It still was not utterly enchanting at all, and yet they pressed through them. The story would have to be sought. One thing became apparent though fast. This area of tress was not just a cluster or huddle, but a dense tangling of unforgiving branches. It was hard to move among them, between them, without having their clothes catch at a pointed stretching limb repeatedly.
One caught at her dress now. “Ah.”
Arthur turned back. There was no way to move through the crowded area except walking single file. He had taken the lead, cutting at some of the branches with his sword as their tangling threatened strongly. He lifted his sword slightly to cut the branch high away from where it had stopped her.
“Thank you.”
He nodded his head, continuing through.
Even Guinevere was frowning now. Maybe it hadn’t been like this when her parents came. Perhaps it had all turned to just full forestry with no real opening for the flowers anymore. “Maybe…Arthur maybe we should turn back.”
He cut away another blocking one, noticing as he looked up for a second that the sky here was completely blocked too, by all the twisting arms of nature. Lowering his eyes, he took in the deep frown on her face. Recalling her story, and why this place meant so much to her, he grasped at her hand. “No.”
“But what if it’s not here anymore?”
He wondered about that too. It might have all grown over since that time. And yet he hated the thought of leaving, disappointing her. “Sure it is.”
He didn’t let her reply, just kept holding at her hand, used his sword with the other, and forged through.
The struggle unfortunately refused to dissipate. The branches thickened in some areas so much that even his sword cutting was mocked at as they resiliently wouldn’t part.
Guinevere lowered her face, sure now that it was all gone. Time had taken it away. The servants she had talked about, it had been years since the last of the stories. “Arthur, it’s no good. Even the servants, their stories, I should have told you before, but they said it when I was younger. No one’s said anything about this place in a long time. The trees took charge. I doubt it’s here anymore.” She tugged at his hand.
He turned around to face her. The russet was gone from her eyes, dullness there instead. Gently he fingered her cheek. He started to affirm her words-
When…
He looked past her lovely face to the side. He could swear there was a bit of light, a slight spot where the branches didn’t hover so darkly. “Come on.” He pulled at her hand with a bit of excitement actually.
She protested. “Arthur…what-
He kept moving in the direction of that touch of sparseness. Maybe it was nothing, but if…
Another rough area of branches laughed at his approach, enmeshed so fully in each other they were horrid to cut. It took him long moments before he got it all away and then, that speck of light grew.
He had to cut some more, but they were starting to be less of an obstacle. It was getting easier to walk. The size of it was widening. Something went beyond this mess of trees. It had to be…
A tangle faced them again, an ugly one. He cut with his sword and then…
“Oh...”
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Go here…
“Almost like it was made for you.”