He didn’t know if it was the intensity of her gaze or something in her last sentence – you rather hit the mark last time – but Endymion blushed in spite of himself. His cheeks felt warm, and so did something in his chest; his mouth opened slightly, but without meaning to, she had swept his words away.
He glanced briefly sidelong, a little guiltily, down at her hip, where he’d accidentally shot her. He remembered holding his hand to her, to steady her, and wondered just how much longer they would have to sit here, longing for the course to end; he wondered if he, they, might find some reason to excuse themselves. Of course he couldn’t come up with anything remotely appropriate: so gave the window a brief wistful look and shifted slightly in his seat.
They didn’t host much, the Greybacks, she had said; Endymion, trying to find the threads of their conversation, returned, only half-teasing: “Then I suppose if I ever hope to see you again I’ll have to search the forests. Or perhaps you might try wandering in Ireland sometime.”
He glanced briefly sidelong, a little guiltily, down at her hip, where he’d accidentally shot her. He remembered holding his hand to her, to steady her, and wondered just how much longer they would have to sit here, longing for the course to end; he wondered if he, they, might find some reason to excuse themselves. Of course he couldn’t come up with anything remotely appropriate: so gave the window a brief wistful look and shifted slightly in his seat.
They didn’t host much, the Greybacks, she had said; Endymion, trying to find the threads of their conversation, returned, only half-teasing: “Then I suppose if I ever hope to see you again I’ll have to search the forests. Or perhaps you might try wandering in Ireland sometime.”
