Waterfalls and Rockpools

What does she want? Angry with him for rushing off, trying not to show it. Polite. Wants to get to bed to sleep.

What does he want - her to understand the rules.

The air was still warm at dusk as Wynter settled down beside the stream. Confident that no one else would disturb her evening, the woman had tested the water with her bare foot. It was cold, but she was eager to bathe and try washing away the last few days. Coming down from the mountains, it took her breath away.

With her skirts hitched up in one hand, she followed the water downstream. It had started as little more than a rivulet covering her ankles but before she’d gone too far through the trees it had widened and dropped down over a ledge creating a waterfall into a pool.

She circled around, climbing down the rocks, smiling. The water caught the last of the sunlight, glittering gold as it plunged into the pool. Still ice cold, it had at least absorbed some of the heat from the day. She set her sword on a large flat rock, laying out a change of clothes alongside it.

Wynter stripped off her torn and travel stained clothes, discarding them with a grin. Was it foolish to feel so safe? So free? She wasn’t going to let her hesitation overrule her life. She hadn’t the night before with Fenrir, and wasn’t going to do it now.

Bare, she waded into the water, gasping as it quickly reached her middle. Goosebumps covered her skin as she stood, waving her arms back and forth, shivering. The shock of cold making her teeth chatter. A quick bath then, she smiled. And probably not somewhere she would return when the weather was colder.

She sank down beneath the crystalline water, submerged as she looked up through the ripples that spread over the surface. Kneeling on the floor of the pool, she could see the sky stretching out beyond. Painted gold and dusty pink, waving back and forth with the effect of the water that separated her from the rest of the world.

Wynter knelt until her lungs were burning, and dark spots danced in front of her vision. Then she stood, rushing out of the water. Letting it cascade over her body. She’d adjusted to the temperature, but it was still formidably cold. She collected soap from the bag she’d left in reach, and washed. Taking care to scrub away any trace of the journey.

It had all happened so fast. What had been the final straw? She tried to think back, to make sense of the life she had left behind. She had loved Malachi, in the way an innocent could be made to love a man of experience. He had made her feel special, seen in a world where she’d often felt invisible and undesirable.

Malachi had changed that. Yet there had been difficulties between them from the start of the relationships. Things that hadn’t made her happy, and instead had sounded a chord of disharmony in her chest. Things that she had then brushed aside and dismissed. Until it was too late.

She had always hoped that trying to appease the man would help him remember that he loved her. Why had she left? Wynter lay back in the water again, washing out the soap from her hair. She’d lost hope. She had no longer been able to believe that things might get better. Because they weren’t they were only getting worse.

She exhaled, letting out all the tension held trapped in her chest. Opening her eyes she peered at the sky that was growing steadily darker. Pin pricks of light were dotted through the heavens, stars coming into focus. Wynter scrubbed her face, rubbing her cheeks and eyes as she stood again. Hair trailing down her back and over her breasts as she inhaled once more. The tears that had fallen, pushed away from her cheeks.

Beneath the waterfall, pushing her hair back fro her face, she let the weight of the river wash over her. Easing all the aches and pains in her neck and shoulders. She felt beaten by it, the heavy torrent that threatened to push her down. She was grateful that the pool was shallow enough beneath the fall, so that she could stand.

There was no point crying over Malachi. So far, she was free. Despite her dislike of Dorien, she trusted his word that Artuss and Thom were well on their way down the mountain. A few days grace, even if it was just a few days before the next party came to Whire, or Malachi came himself. She had a few days to breathe and recover.

Wynter turned, sucking in a heavy breath as she stared at the man stood on the bank of the pool. Dressed like a King, or the Prince that he was. Fenrir. He still wore his polished black boots, the dark breeches and shirt embroidered with gold thread. In the dusk, his hair shone with the same golden light that seemed to rain down from the waterfall as it plunged into the pool.

She felt acutely naked, water running over her body in little rivers. Between the swell of her breasts. She could feel the droplets chasing the shape of her curves. He was staring, dark blue eyes intense as he watched her. His features were dark, cast in shadow.

Chin lifted, she determined to ignore the man. He’d already seen her naked. They’d been far more intimate than even that. But she held her breath as she crossed the pool to the belongings laid out on the rocks. Holding his gaze, daring him to look away or admit his shame. How dare stare at her like that. As if he had all the right in the world to watch her.

Her fingers shook as she reached for the towel and turned ehr back on the man. Her heart was racing, lungs still burning from their time underwater. Goosebumps covered her skin once more as she wrapped the cloth beneath her arms and turned again, climbing up the rocks with one hand outstretched, one gripping the thin, wet cloth that shielded any sense of modesty.

Now that she’d looked away, she couldn’t look back again. Instead she busied herself. Out of the water she kept her back to the man as she dried herself, the best she could with a smaller towel that she’d bundled into the pack. She was shivering, just from the cold. She lied to herself, but even without looking, she knew that he was still.

It frustrated her. She glanced over her shoulder, angry with the man. How dare he?! All the anger she’d set aside in the throne room, was quick to return. Once more, she was taken by the desire to strike him. Had desire meant so little to him?

She grit her teeth and turned away again. Reaching for the shirt that she’d found in the bags from Genevive. She bent, pulling it up over her, letting the soft, dove grey fabric fall over her body in a shimmy. There was nothing she could say to him, not when she was naked and he was staring at her like a man viewing the last meal he’d ever eat.

The shirt was long enough to touch the backs of her thighs and she turned, ready to reach for her sword. She always felt more confident with a weapon in hand. But she had misjudged Fenrir because he’d moved from his place on the bank. He’d closed the distance between them. His proximity making her jump again, stumbling. Her arm thrown wide as she slipped on the rocks.

He caught her, and with a hard tug she was against his body. Secure for a moment as he wrapped his arms around her. Their eyes locked and he bent his head, brushing his mouth over her own.