He stayed with her in near silence, only occasionally brushing her ear with
an almost-sigh, while slow, methodical waves lapped up on the pebbled beach
and trickled back. Soft, cool, his caress brushed her cheek... gingerly,
tenderly, pushing her hair back before running past her neck.

She shivered as his touch ran down her spine, all the way to the piece of
driftwood she sat upon. It was one of those touches that sent waves of
pleasant pin-pricks through your skin, reaching every limb and then just
fading into nothingness. He didn't interrupt her thoughts, didn't
speak, demanded nothing of her... he just stayed there. Not silent, but
quiet, not here, but there.

Occasionally, he'd leave her side to touch the ocean water, sending
ripples out into the horizon, and the moonlight would glitter off the top
of the waves in the dusk of the night. But even when he left her side, it
was as if he did everything just for her...

... To show her beauty where she didn't see it before, to show her
movement and spoil her senses with a thousand different experiences.

He'd brush the leaves on the trees, to show her the way the shadows
played on the rough, textured surface of the beach.

He'd come back to her with stealth-like silence when she wasn't
looking... Carressing her skin, playing with her hair, teasingly pulling at
her clothes... to show her how a simple touch could differ.

He'd whisper, whistle, breathe into her ear, just to show her how many
ways a sound could make you feel.

He brought her inspiration, lead her mind down a thousand paths on a leash
of curiousity, intrigue, ideas... Yet he asked nothing in return, wanted
nothing from her. He just enjoyed teasing her, showing her, leading her
thoughts wherever he wished with a guiltily innocent touch. Some nights he
was strong, other nights he was soft, some nights he was barely noticeable,
but he was always, always, there.

And she called him the wind.

 
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