viii.
[Ever since returning from what could only be called Hell Week, Castor had been feeling much differently toward his little wood nymph, and he could tell she felt the same. Some sort of attraction was certainly there. Whatever it was in particular that drew him to Syrinx, he couldn't quite place it, and so he allowed the feelings to settle, to figure themselves out over the weeks.
Under the watch of Aeneas (Hector's captain -- there was a little bit of bias there) it had proven a touch more difficult to sneak her out, but Castor figured the girl could spare at least half an hour with him, if not more. Once in the park, it wasn't hard to strike up a conversation and carry it on until they were interrupted by a flock of birds.
He nearly didn't expect the fingers that quickly curled around his, squeezing tight and seeking protection as Syrinx pressed into his side. And instead of letting go once the squawks had disappeared in the sky, he held on, adjusting their hands so that their palms aligned more comfortably.]