The Garden of Eden slowly dissolved, the river turning to dust, the flowers shivering, and then the world disappeared.
The cave reassembled itself around him. Fire still crackling, emitting a faint heat that warmed the air, fighting off the frigid cold.
His hand was hovering an inch above Willow's face, exactly where he had left it.
Leonidas looked at it for a moment. Then at Willow, and then back to his hand.
She was still asleep, breathing even, face slack. The small smile from earlier had softened into the face you had after a laugh, that amalgamation of a smile and frown.
Her raven hair had spread across the crimson fabric like flowing shadows, dark against dark, catching what little firelight remained.
He stayed very still.
It occurred to him, not for the first time and not without irritation, that Willow was unreasonably beautiful when she wasn't cursing at him for being useless, which, by the way, he wasn't.
