>>5879172>>5879164>>5879154>>5878824>>5878809>>5879415As midday turn to late afternoon, your remaining misgivings about entering into any sort of relationship here are gradually worn down. While all the girls are nice, and fetching in their way, the majority of the credit really goes to Sylvare. Her persistence and proclivity for humour and innuendo make it hard to ignore her. Your initial inclination to keep things light and flirty with all three of the young elfmaids quickly becomes a singular focus upon the bouncy curls and sparkling eyes of Sylvare especially. By the time evening approaches, you and she are engaged in light banter and fluffy conversation—far from deep or personal, but undeniably fun. There are, as they say, sparks.
“This has been really fun,” you admit quietly, when the other elfmaids and the elder are out of earshot.
“I didn’t know our hero such a big fan of tossing salad,” she says.
You nearly choke, causing her to arch an eyebrow and hold up her bowl of greenery for a moment, before setting it down upon the table. You set your own down a moment later, and follow after her.
“Sorry,” you say. “just… That has a, uh, COLLOQUIAL meaning among the humans that you might not have known.”
“Oh,” Sylvare says without turning around or missing a beat, “I know.”
You stop for a moment, face heating up as you watch her go. Something in the sway of her hips, and the way she tosses her hair, fixes your attention. It isn’t love, and it has no depth, but still the fascination grips you. Thereafter, you pursue her—literally and figuratively, following after her as she sets about gathering water, attending to food-bushes and holy trees of the grove to pluck away parasites and irritants, and other necessary chores of elven horticulture. All the while, the two of you find excuses to bump into one anther, or to touch fingers. Every instance produces a stolen glance, a lingering moment; each time, it is a little longer, a bit more obviously charged.
“So, are we going to be doing chores all day?” you ask after a time.
“Of course,” Sylvare says brightly, but with a subtle purr to her voice. “What else would we be doing?
“It’s just that, well, I’m going to be defending the moon-stone again tonight, and night’s almost HERE, and given all that I thought that first we might…?”
“Might…?” she repeats, mimicking your inflection, and you feel your blush spreading to the pointed tips of your ears again, provoking a laugh from Sylvare.
“A champion of the people who is so easily flustered by girls?” she asks.
“I feel as if I’ve been holding my own, actually,” you retort.
“It seems to me,” she muses, “you’d rather be holding MINE.”
You open your mouth to say something but, well, what do you say to a thing like that.
