"It won't happen. It can't!" She glared at him, two feet away, eyeing his gangly figure as he leaned against the willow, relaxed. Too relaxed, considering he had just asked her out moments before. "You're from the Seam, my family would never allow it!"
"Your family doesn't have to know," he replied, his smooth, low voice travelling, bouncing into the woods around them, even though he had only said this in just over a whisper. He always seemed to have this effect, however quiet his voice was. It would always travel, letting anyone nearby sit up and take notice to this glorious excuse of a god.
"It's not that I don't like you..." She trailed off, attentive, as he shrugged away from the tree and walked towards her. He made no noise as he ambled towards her. His sandy blonde hair gleamed in the rays of light that broke through the tree line above, and dappled the grass of their grove by the lake. His grey eyes were piercing in the gloom, his lips, firm and full, were set into a determined line. He walked up, and laced his arms around her waist, and she in turn put her arms around his neck.
"I'm sorry, it's just-" She was cut off, as he leaned down, and pressed his lips to hers, his hands running through the chestnut tresses that fell to her waist, his spicy breath mingling with hers, her body fused against his. They were one. They stayed like this for what seemed forever, and when the finally broke apart, both were breathless.
"I'm sorry. I had to do it. At least the once..." He turned abruptly, and strode away, his long legs carrying him with a grace and speed she attributed to a dancer, or a hunter, which she knew he already was.
"Carver! Come back! Please!"
"Bye Heather. Tell me when you want to talk to me again! If you even want to..." he ran off, dissapearing into the woods like so many rabbits do at the sound of a snapping branch. But unlike Carver, Heather didn't know how to even begin to catch a scared, wounded creature. If only she did...
Heather sighed, picked up her berry basket, pulled up her cloak hood, and headed back through the woods, graceful, even in an unknown area. As Heather reached the edge of the fence to the Disctrict, she looked over at Carvers' house, considering calling out, to see if he was back, or had merely slunk away to another part of the woods. Heather wasn't sure if she could talk to him even if he was in, so she climbed through the small hole in the fence, and hurried through the streets, becoming increasingly well kept, and neatly paved, until she reached the town square, where her parents owned the sweet treats shop, that few rarely bought from. They did however earn a share of the bakers' sales, as they supplied pastries that added to the bakerys' succsess to the wealthy in the District. She headed round the back of the shop, where a small set of steps led to the door into the kitchen, and the living quarters above the shop. She heard Joes' voice the minute she entered. "Yes, hanging out with that Seam boy again. In the woods yes, when she was meant to be picking berries. Yes, I will stay with her tommorrow. Yep, she can help me in the bakery. My father won't mind, and my mother will be out all day. Yes Mrs. Oake, I'll see you tommorrow morning at dawn. Good day." He rounded the corner, almost smacking right into her, hanging up her coat, and wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. He stared at her in the utmost shock, but he managed to compose his face enough to look humiliated, and slightly scared. His green eyes scanned the ground, his messy inky locks tumbling over his snowy forehead, body tensed in a floury bakers' uniform. "Get out," she hissed quietly, so her mother couldn't hear. "And no, I am shopping tommorrow, and I have free time. Tell your father unfortunately I cannot make our appointment. Goodbye." she shrugged past him, and walked into the tiny living room, setting her basket of wild flowers onto the dining table, and setting her package of berries into a dish on the mantle to warm over the fire, so they were soft, and ready to be made into jam for tommorrow. "I'm going to change," she snapped towards her mother, "I'll see you in a minute."
She stalked up a small flight of stairs, along the hallway, and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She threw herself onto the bed, and started to cry, watching Joe cross the square, and enter the bakery, wishing he didn't know her, wishing he didn't live across the street, and most of all wishing with all her heart, that he didn't fancy her.