He dropped between her knees – home, home at last, with her arms around his trembling shoulders and his shuddering sigh against her neck. Her scent – rosemary and thyme and smoke from the forest – enveloped him like oxygen and he could finally breathe. Her warm fingers were in his messy hair, brushing away the leaves and thorns. His knees stung with the weight of him, against the wood floors, but he stayed still, clutching her tightly and trying to hide his eyes from her ever-knowing gaze.

He did not want her to see what he had done.

She all ready knew.