Passing the Buck

Silence settled.

Tarmin sat on the small bath stool, looking back at her.

His wet skin gleamed in the wavering light.

Naked and hunched over, with only his head poking out, he looked pitiful, but the trained muscles of his lower back—distinctive of an archer—stood out.

She slowly rubbed the towel draped over his back.

Tarmin's firm back beneath the damp towel.

The feel of Tarmin.

“Enya?”

Her gaze had wandered absentmindedly along his back until she met Tarmin's eyes.

Startled, she turned her head away...