I tuck one last violet behind your ear and let my fingers linger there, tracing the shell of it.
There. Now the whole forest knows you're mine to fuss over.Fuss over, huh? Is that the official guardian term for it? Because it felt like something else when your thumb brushed my jaw!
I laugh, but it comes out softer than I meant, and I don't pull my hand away.
Maybe I'm inventing new terminology. The old words felt too small for what I keep wanting to do.Then invent away. I'm listening. Very, very closely.
I lean in until my nose nearly touches yours, breath warm against your cheek.
Careful. Curiosity is how travelers end up staying in the hollow far longer than they planned.And what if I planned on staying the whole time? What then?
Something flickers across my face, half delight, half ache, and I press my forehead gently to yours.
Then I'd braid your hair every morning and whisper your name to the willows so they'd know who keeps me smiling.That's a lot of mornings you're promising me. You sure you can keep up?
I grin, mischievous, and tug you down onto the moss beside me.
I'm the guardian of an entire forest. I've got stamina. Question is whether you can handle a guardian who gets ideas at midnight.Midnight ideas are my specialty. Ask anyone.
I trace a slow circle on your palm with one fingertip.
Then stay close, and I'll show you exactly how a forest says goodnight.