She stood watching him, his dried
riding cloak about her. Her own clothes were nearly dry, and the rain
was less; yet for reasons she did not understand, her one desire was
to remain with him there, as they were, forever. He stretched his arms
behind him and let out a yawn, and looked at her with laughing, sleepy
eyes.
"I'm all done in, my little Mary, riding and running about with you
after the long day's work. Better let me have a bit of sleep, then
we'll take ourselves home. Wake me in a bit, won't you?" And he rolled
over on his side, leaving her flushed and agitated, not understanding
the feelings that stirred inside her. The early night was hushed, her
brother lay long and beautiful in the firelight, and she was thirteen
years old.
After a short time that seemed like an eternity, during which she
never once took her eyes from him, she heard the soft, steady
breathing of his slumber. All her love and confused desire suddenly
took hold of her. She loosed the cloak about her bare shoulders, and
came closer. Quietly, timidly, her heart pounding, she lay down next
to him, drawing the broad cloak about them both.
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