this has been the best. let's do it again sometime, call me~
Not one more word had been spoken. None were necessary; the evening transformed into exactly what it needed to be, as the chase gave way to a tussle which made every nerve ending in her body prickle. It was the escape she needed, the isolation of one beautiful moment in time when she was nothing more than her flesh and bones, a nobody, with no inspirations or failures or responsibilities. It wasn't that Belladonna Calor abhorred her role in life, needed freedom and whimsy, but damn it had been bogging her down, accumulating into that one silly existential question when peering at her own appearance in the water - and now, curled up here next to the man who had called her out on it, she couldn't regret a moment for it. It had resulted in this perfect moment.
He was long asleep, this mysterious, intoxicating stranger, just as she had been not moments ago. It was only by chance that the woman had awoken, a phantom sound which had pricked at her ears but, clearly, not his; the light was dim but she could just about see his peaceful outline, could hear his rhythmic breathing, could feel his serenity. Her addicted state urged her to tuck her nose back into that warm spot next to his cheek and join him, but the longer she was awake, the more the outside world crept into her thoughts. It was a fanciful but ignorant to think she could hide away in here forever, because they both had lives beyond this glen and the soft background music of the waterfall, they both had identities which were wrapped up in the needs of others. She recognised none of the wolves who had their scents laced in his pelt, but knew what it meant, for it was the exact same way her own fur came mingled with that of all the wolves from the Woodlands. And, that besides, she couldn't bear to consider what saying goodbye to this would be like, come the morning, when they would both have to acknowledge those outside lives and drop the masks they'd put on for each other.
Or was it more that they would have to put the masks back on?
But if she did not stay, what was the other option? To creep out while he slept, to leave him to awaken by himself, alone? Struck by indecision, she was now quite awake, and glanced towards where the entrance to this cave lay, the crabapple trees a permanent perfume in this place. Her consciousness caught onto that scent for a moment, as a wandering mind was wont to do, and followed a winding, arbitrary train of thought until suddenly it struck her.
Her breath caught, and she knew, if she could pull it off, if she could find it, it would be perfect. Gently, with excruciating patience she extracted herself from his warmth, taking every care not to disrupt his peace. Once free, she moved out towards that entrance, feeling almost as though she were floating, and reassured herself of the decision by snuffling her nose into the nearest bunch of crab apple leaves and inhaling, and the memory confirmed her knowledge. Bella was no botanist, and had once tried to learn the art of herbalism by means of expanding her usefulness, but she had had no interest in the plants with interesting medicinal effects. She only remembered the beautiful ones, the striking ones, the ones with no use other than to look splendid to the world, and had been forced to accept defeat in her training. It hadn't lasted long, and it had never bothered her.
There was one plant, however, that Bella had made sure to learn, and which she had found crawling in the dark spaces of the expansive grove which had laid at the bottom of the mountain upon which her children had been born. That grove, lined with ash trees, had been full of hawthorn and mulberry and, much like this place, trees upon trees of flourishing crab apple. She couldn't remember why, exactly, but it was usual to see these kinds of plants together, almost like it was something in the ground or the air in these regions which caused these particular trees and bushes and berries to thrive. As she stepped out into the night, her eyes lifting to dance over the tops of the trees with a contented hum, she hoped that she remembered right.
Then her eyes dropped, searching for the areas which would be most shaded at midday, the more damp and dark crevices of the forest, and began her search. It was too early in the year for the flowers to have bloomed, but no matter, she would recognise it by its leaves and scent. Patient and diligent, she searched in increasing spirals in the dim moonlight, and was rewarded with the discovery of a low but thriving bush of her exact goal.
Carefully she put her teeth around a delicate stem and severed it cleanly, leaving her with half a foot of the lush green sprig in her mouth. She took it to where the moonlight was strongest and placed it down, almost affectionately, and could just about make out the buds which would have bloomed into flower in the coming weeks, and hoped that they would be distinct enough, that he would recognise the plant's shape and smell and taste - or, more likely, would know someone who did, back at this pack of his. They must have a herbalist who would know all the common names for plants, right? If he even chose to take it with him - she would not be able to know, but it didn't matter; in the world she had built for them in her head, he did. That was enough.
Before she left for the thicket, she brushed her nose against the fur in his neck, committing him to memory, and made sure to place the sprig of deadly nightshade in the empty space beside him.