He nodded in agreement — certainly fiction required a lot of imagination and the seeking of muse. Winny had sparked plenty of that in him.

As for the young man's sweet desire to see Natty's name on a book he'd written, the writer replied; "unfortunately it doesn't work like that. I —"

And then Winny slid his arms around him and nestled into his rugged chest. Natty's heart leapt and he had a sudden, surprising flood of feelings as he rested one arm awkwardly about the other's slender shoulders. "I hope so", he replied, voice strangely quiet, as the lively forest rustled around them. "Thank you for... hoping that for me."