As you moved I froze in my path, letting you come close on careful steps of your mud-browned bare feet, mud-slicked crouched legs, letting you study me. I have no doubt that you found my battered corduroy trousers, hard boots and heavy jacket peculiar, to judge by the look in your dark eyes as they peered from beneath the fringe of your redwood-colored hair. I tried to remain still and neutral, watching you passively as you circled me, but I was drowned by the sight of your moss-covered breasts and belly, and by the scent of mushrooms and decaying leaves that rose coolly from your body.

The twilight seemed to swaddle around us as you came nearer, near enough to sniff at my hands and shoulders as an animal would. I moved my arm cautiously, startling you all the same, but you did not pull back when I reached out to stroke your jaw with one hand. Your skin was smooth, human, but a touch cooler, and much of your body was cloaked in the fabric of the forest.

I traced my fingers down the line of your throat, straying into the soft green tumuli of your breasts. I felt your breath begin to quicken even as you continued to regard me with your strange green eyes. I leaned close, this time to inhale deeply the dark, damp perfume of your hair, which was woven with long strands of moss and the thinnest threads of willow branch. It caught in my throat, this smell of my boyhood winters spent dashing and shrieking through these woods, sometimes with friends and others alone. That thrill pervaded me now, aching my bones as I cupped your belly in my hand and pressed my mouth to yours.