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"Found berries!" she explains with a grin. "First of the season. Not enough to make anything from. Want to share?"
"I would absolutely love to," He replied, looking down into her basket, squeezing her arm gently where it was linked with his. "If you're sure the rest of your supplies can wait in the meantime," he gently teased. He'd been apprenticed under the storyteller (this time) and had been watching the perimeter while he tried to memorize the stories he'd been told that day.
It wasn't his fault that he kept putting dragons and dwarves into them and messing them up.
He tilted his head to look at her, an answering blush tinting his cheeks, though his was certainly not from exertion.
"Assuming you aren't testing poisons on me," He added, grinning. "I generally prefer to be asked, first, if I'm going to end up sleeping for three days."
"No poisons. Just a pretty girl feeding you berries." To demonstrate, she takes a berry and moves to pop it in his mouth.
"Ah, first berries indeed - incredibly sour!" He grinned with the barefaced lie, plucking a berry from the basket an holding it to her lips. "See? Try it."
"Terrible."
He chuckles against her lips, closing his eyes as he returned the kiss. "Never thought I'd taste berries so sour," he whispered as he raised a hand to cup her jaw, thumb brushing gently on her cheek.
"I think I like them," he murmured before he took another, tender, kiss.
He's never been particularly the best kisser in the world, but he's nothing if not attentive, and all too happy to help create a little world for them both where nothing else exists. Eventually he lays back, laughing, on the grass, and motions for her to snuggle up next to him.
"We can steal a few more minutes," He whispers quietly. "I'm supposed to do a story telling tonight."
"Only a few minutes? That's nothing to brag about, you know," she teases.
Birdsong swells around them: softly cooing pigeons, cawing crows, murmuring songbirds and a dozen others that chatter among themselves.
Intermittent sunlight breaks through the lush green canopy above, turning every surface in to a dappled haze of light and shadow.
All in all, Abelath thinks to himself, it is the perfect killing zone.
Abelath should be thankful for it all - the breeze settling down to the barest murmur and keeping his scent from travelling, the birdsong that covers his every move, the dappled light that provides just enough shadow to hide within. It all makes for an excellent hunting ground, down to the last detail. And yet the tall, raven haired elf has absolutely no kills to his name, despite the long hours the pair have been hunting so far.
Fat, plump pigeons sitting in the branches overhead seem to take huge delight in the hunter's disappointment as they coo happily to each other about the elf's bad luck (or so the elf feels). Abelath has never been mocked by birds before and he isn't really appreciating his first time.
Carefully, slowly, he draws his string back with a finely crafted arrow notched in place. He sights his next target - a well-fattened wood dove - and holds his breath as he waits for the perfect moment to release...
With a soft exhale and a silent prayer Abelath lets the arrow fly in a sudden, sharp snap of waxed bowstring. Yet again, frustratingly, the arrow misses by a millimeter: the arrowhead bites home harmlessly in a tree branch and sends the dove scattering.
"Once upon a time," He declares through gritted teeth to his fellow archer. "I was a damn good shot."
He raised his bow, his tongue sticking out between his lips, his eyes narrowing as he drew the string back, the fletching at his cheek. He took a breath, held it, and then released.
The arrow flew straight and true, but not towards any pigeon. Instead, it hit the base of a mushroom high on a tree, breaking it off and sending the fungus flying.
"Ha!"
"Yes, yes, well done. You killed a mushroom."
With a perturbed sigh he rested his folded hands on the tip of his longbow and frowned at the felled fungus.
"You were aiming for that, right?" He checked with a bleak edge to his voice. How much better would Abelath feel if hitting the mushroom had been a complete and utter fluke?
Every shot Gavin ever took seemed to be a fluke. He was either aiming at things people weren't looking at, or taking shots while he was tumbling down cliffs. Whether it was luck, or skill, was completely up for debate.
"Sure," He said, grinning, which neither confirmed nor denied his intention. He bent down to pick up the fungus. "You want some?" he teased, offering it.
No longer caring about stealth Abelath all but stomped the short distance to where his arrow stuck out of a mighty tree trunk at a very neat 90 degrees.
"Besides, judging by the luck I've had today I think the damn thing will end up poisonous as soon as I take a bite..."
Yanking the arrow from the trunk, he inspected the length with a sigh as if the reason for his dismal shooting was all down to a faulty arrow. Sadly, the arrow was perfect.
"I think it's all on you to get us something decent to bring home," he sighed after a moment. "No pressure, friend."
"Well, no," He admitted, smiling, the warmth spreading through him. He leaned his head in, pressing his lips to her hair and breathing deeply. He loved the way her hair smelled, especially after she'd been out in the woods.
"No, I admit, that one has me completely baffled. Perhaps you have terrible taste."
"Mm. You taste just fine, thank you."
"What would the keeper say," Gavin chuckled, breathlessly, though he was certainly not stopped her hands from roaming. Really, the keeper wouldn't say anything, but he liked to tease. Better to hide just how much he wanted to be there, right now, in that moment. His fingers splayed, stroking up her back, between her shoulder blades.
"Lie with me," she whispers.
His skin prickled under her touch- her delicate fingers sending shivers through him. But it was the whispered words in his ears that made his pulse quicken, that caught his breath.
He could have made a joke, could have teased her - but instead he simply shifted, his lips finding her jaw, her throat, her collarbone as he gently pulled the fabric aside.
He would not deny her.
As he works his way down the line of her throat, she shifts and pulls him on top of her, parting her legs to accommodate him. Her slim fingers stroke whatever skin she can reach, till she starts tugging at his tunic, trying to pull it over his head.
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