The bark of the great trunk was a pale pink. It felt soft as a baby's skin. It smelt beautiful, floral. Why? This was the blossomwood tree.
And it was the perfect place to share wondrous pleasure.
She stood with her back against the tree, arms wrapped around it as she gazed ahead of her.
But Alistair liked surprising her.
She was shocked by the tender kiss of my hand and, as ever, mystified by how he could walk so silently in the forest.
That night, they sang and danced and talked. All delightful actions were encompassed in that kiss.