He Knew, She Knew
They knew, they both agreed, they weren’t ready. He, because he never would be; she, because her heart had been ripped out by another and fed to the ravens.
Yet somehow he took her hand for a fleeting second and the void in her began to fill, a trickle at first, then a gradual flow.
Molten heat coursed through her veins the day they climbed that hill and discovered the tumbledown shepherds hut. In its inner sanctuary they placed their tartan blanket on the floor and consumed each other in full view of their unopened picnic basket.
As they ground their bodies together in frantic desperation to feel something, anything, he whispered her name and the sun warmed her face and the tear on her cheek. For a few moments as their cries echoed around the lonely valley, they were alive once more.
As they left the hut and returned down the hillside, the fire within her cooled and turned to stone.
“I care about you, you know that, don’t you?” he said, gazing at her with clear eyes. “I didn’t expect to feel like this but I do.”
She turned away to hide the conflict within her.
A raven flew overhead, casting a shadow across her face. She climbed wearily into her car and drove away, knowing she must never see him again.
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