After having endured that most awkward experience in the bushes, Caspian decides to give it another go. One fumble was easily waved off as sour luck, an unfortunate happenstance. Sure, he might have gotten a partial enemy out of it—but wasn't a partial enemy also partially a friend? At least this time, perhaps his paramour would be a sweet young girl, perhaps with green or blue eyes, her fur silvery as the moon. He could murmur sweet nothings and she could weave tales about some homeland he knew nothing about. Or perhaps she'd be russet with violet eyes and a moonstone upon her brow, tempting him into the ocean's depths. Or maybe a dragon? One of fiery orange and yellow and soot. She'd threaten to tear him apart and put a royalist's shackles upon him—and he'd relish the adrenaline as it coursed through his veins.
But alas, he felt no thrill when he opened his eyes. If anything, his heart seized, threatening never to beat again. Because, before him, is Ahre. "Remember me?" She whispers and Caspian can't help but stare at her and feel every single memory as it washes over him.
Damnit, third time really was the charm.
But he doubts he'll ever have the guts to go back into that cursed grove.
"How could I forget?" Caspian asks weakly, unable to muster much more than a wane smile. Almost immediately, he looks away from her and begins to walk away.
"Back in town?" Comes a rather brisk question, stiff as if to keep her at bay.
