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Roe...the hunted Sleep had come at least to Roe. The handsome toe-haired stranger had for weeks, plagued her dreams. Now the stranger had a name, Cail…it sounded melodic in her mind; now she had been close enough to touch him, or rather to kick him below the belt, to smell him, or rather to be warned that he was male. Like all men, he reeked of sweat and ale but had a sweet natural scent to him; it reminded her of the mountains. Finally, she had managed to put those thoughts out of her tired mind. Her youthful body gave in and she slept alone in her tent as the camped off the coach road.Roe...the hunted
&n
by ~red-sonja
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Un clin d’œil n’est pas un signe d’un flirt seulement
C’est aussi un signe d’une complicité entre deux personnes
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