Would he be here exactly when the first sun met the horizon? Would he wait until night fell completely? I should have gotten more details.
My legs buzzed with anticipation. Perhaps a quick jog would help burn through some of my anxious tension. I stood, slipping my cloak over my shoulders to do just that when a knock sounded at the door.
I froze.
My pulse sped in my chest, loud and almost painful.
He washere.
I yanked the door open.
“Hi,” I said, a little breathless.
He examined me, gold eyes raking from my antlers all the way down to the floor, and then back up.
I shivered.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, glancing pointedly at my cloak.
“Oh!” I scrambled to take the cloak off and hang it back up. “No, I was just?—”
“Just getting back, then?”
“No, I was going to go run to kill some time.”
“Before I got here?”
I nodded.
“Do you still wish to run?”
“Oh, no.” I shuffled awkwardly, stepping back so he had enough space to come inside. “It’s getting dark.”
“Scared of the dark?” A wry smile tugged at his cheek.
“Scared of falling and nearly scalping myself again, more like,” I explained lamely.
“As long as you avoid suspicious mushrooms, you should be fine.”
I snorted. “I won’t be even looking at any mushrooms for a long while.”
“Wise,” he murmured. He tilted his head. “May I?”
“Of course! Of course.” I flattened myself to the wall to give him a wide berth—I was afraid that even the slightest of contact would shatter my fragile willpower.
I pushed the door shut behind him.
He stepped inside and looked around, examining my space with an unreadable expression on his face.
He glanced down to his boots, and then to my hoofed feet. “Should I take these off?” he asked.
“If you don’t mind. You know… mud.”
His boots were clean, not a speck of dirt to be seen, but he obliged.
The quiet was stifling.
I wandered to the kitchen to throw a window open, desperate for any sort of sound. The chirping of insects and the whirl of wind would be a blessing.
