She had opened her mouth to speak, yet the words never left her lips.
Milcah had found them.
She was returning from tending the newborns.
And Damaris had followed her home.
Since they had stopped at Milcah and Damaris' hut first, Zuri was left to walk the forest path alone. And as he did, all he could think of was the look in her eyes when he had spun her around, and the feel of his hand against her face.
What was she going to say?
He had asked her to tell him, and he was certain she would have. Now all he could do was wonder…
He reached his cottage, and only after he had sunk into his bed did he remember the letter he had so hurriedly tucked away.
With a short sigh, he pulled it out, held it up with both hands and just stared at the words upon the plain envelope.
After a moment of deliberation, he sat up, flicked his fingers, and the candle upon the bedside table sprang to life.
He unsealed the letter and with another deep sigh, his gaze began to move over the words within.
***
Damaris could not say exactly when it had begun. In truth, if she looked back and sought to pick a particular time or day, she would fail. Yet at some point, those grey eyes no longer unsettled her in so eerie a manner.
Instead, they stirred some foreign feelings inside her.
It was something she had never experienced before.
It was all the feelings she once had but in a quite different way.
Fear, anxiety, anger, hate…
She felt all these things toward him, yet at the same time she knew it was not exactly these feelings.
"Stupid man," Damaris murmured into her pillow, which was usually uncomfortable, yet even more so that night. How could he not know what she wanted to hear from him? He went about in silence, pretending to be knowledgeable. He was, in fact, very ignorant, clueless and just… a fool!
"Argh! Damaris!" she groaned in embarrassment. "Why did you even do that! All because of something he said."
It had been about three days past when a troupe of traveling dancers passed through Wisteria. They had held a small performance at evening, and while they danced, some of the children declared that Damaris danced better than any among them.
"Is it not so, Zuri? Damaris is the finest dancer in all the land, us she not?" They had asked him.
He had stared at her and replied, "Perhaps, if I saw Damaris dressed and dancing like they do, I would know."
Those words had stirred her.
Because he had said them.
Not just anyone.
Him.
Zuri.
And so she had adorned herself in garments she had not picked up in over five years, beautified herself with jewelries, and even spent time curling her hair.
All to make herself look like a real dancer, like one of the travelers.
All to show him.
"Now I know how it is to make advances toward a person and be ignored."
Embarrassment was too kind a word for how she truly felt. And to think she had been thoughtlessly brushing aside the advances of all those young men who had confessed to her.
She ought to have been more considerate. Now here she was, dancing to to the beat of the rhythm she once played.
"Stupid Damaris," she muttered.
Why did she even need confirmation from him? Even without the attire, all of Wisteria already called her the dancing queen.
What did it matter if his opinion was differed?
Speak to me, Damaris. His words from earlier revisited her mind, and her hand crept to her face as she recalled the coldness of his palm against her cheek.
When he stared at her like that and spoke so gently to her, how could she not—
She clicked her tongue. "Ignorant mutt," she hissed.
For what seemed like hours, she turned and turned but as it always was if she was troubled, she could not find sleep.
She hated that something so trivial should cost her sleep, and so she tried to force slumber upon herself, but after long minutes of restlessly rolling on her narrow bed, she surrendered.
She rose and reached for the box that held her bells and beads, but remembering the events of the night, she withdrew her hand.
"I shall go for a walk."
And so, with languid steps and a bruised ego, she stepped out into the night, an old worn-out shawl draped over her shoulders.
Sighing into the night, she wandered into the woods, in search of comfort her bed had refused her.
It was said that one ought to count sheep if sleep would not come, but Damaris counted her steps instead. Perhaps, if she reached the lake and returned, sleep would finally come.
By the time she heard the soft sound of the lake rippling by, she had reached four thousand.
"Four thousand four hundred and ninety-eight, four thousand four hundred and ninety-nine, four thousand five hund—" Her words faltered.
Her throat instantly went dry, and her foolish heart began to race.
She had not come out for this.
She had not come out for a walk in hopes of encountering him.
She had simply come out for some fresh air!
However, seeing him standing there, in the middle of the lake—probably unclad—grey eyes staring straight at her… she realized.
Ah, this is why I came out.
Because I wished to see him.
I wanted to run into him like this.
I—without knowing it—came here to meet him.
And when it dawned on her, she was ashamed of herself. Therefore she turned and—
"Will the almighty Damaris flee from a mere man standing unclothed in a lake?" His voice was both taunting and haunting. He mocked her. Could he, perhaps, tell she was ashamed? Was that why he mocked her?
She hated him.
She turned, the twirl of her hair mirroring the vehement annoyance within her heart.
"Why would I run?" she asked, hands set upon her hips and chin held high.
"My question precisely. It would not be the first time you find me in a lake in the dead of night."
"I care not for you. I only meant to take a walk to the lake and back in the first place."
"Is that so?" he pressed, brows lifted in mockery. "Why do I have the feeling you came here for a different purpose?"
Her stance faltered. "I—I do not know what you mean."
"Did you not come to see me, Damaris?"
He knew, she was certain now.
He was not so ignorant after all.