The morning came as quickly as night had faded, as much as Cwenn had begged the gods to give her more time. She rolled onto her back, curling one arm underneath her head as her lover's face buried into her neck. Her fingers played with the orange locks that were splayed over her chest, hands trailing down to trace patterns on pale and freckled skin. The sun was beginning to spill through the windows into the room, washing over them.
The lover roused, yawning and stretching as a feline would. Her orange hair against the sun's background made her look like she stepped right out of a painting. Cwenn whispered a silent good morning, watching her lover climb out of bed and begin to gather her clothes.
"I"m going to Trestlebridge today," she said, looking over her shoulder. Cwenn desired to pull her back to bed.
"When are you coming back?" she asked her, nonchalant, keeping her tone as casual as one could. It wasn't very casual at all.
Her lover paused, stepping back over to the bed and sitting down on the bed. It creaked, and Cwenn turned her head to look at her, reaching up to continue playing with the orange locks of hair that she loved so.
"I'm not this time. I told you," she said.
Nodding, in silence, Cwenn watched as her orange-haired lover finished dressing. Without a kiss goodbye, and calling over her shoulder, she disappeared out the door.
"Yes, you did," Cwenn said.
