The Path Home

He gazed at the sleeping woman in his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder and she held him loosely. Down the path the mist thickened and eddied in the moonlight.

He shifted her higher in his arms and she stirred against him in response. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “We’re almost there,” he murmured, lips brushing her soft skin.

The night and mist swallowed the rustling of the damp leaves as he walked leaving nothing to carry into the forest. A stick broke underfoot and she lifted her head to give him a sleepy smile. “Shh, trying to sleep here,” she chided and then settled her head against him once more.

A smile lighted on his lips and she moved against him. It seemed to him she was trying to get closer. Maybe it was the chill or maybe she’d felt the smile somehow.

Reluctantly he passed through the mist and into her home where he must leave her. When he kissed her good night, his fingers rested tenderly on her cheek and his eyes closed. He did not need to see, only to feel.

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