Sansa had a secret.
At the change of every season, a beautiful stranger would visit her in the woods. It was a promise made long ago, one that kept her going back into the forest in search of him every day.
Only at the change of the seasons could...
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Sansa was stopped by the hand at the doorway.
She looked up to see Brock holding his arm out, a teasing expression on his face.
"Going to the lake again?"
She scowled at him, her face trying and failing to hide its displeasure of his sudden appearance.
"Yes. Move please."
The hand remained in place.
Brock sighed a long dramatic sound. "Sansa, when will you stop going there? It's no use to hide yourself away. You need to start training for your first shift."
"I'll do that later when I get back."
She made an attempt to push past the arm, but they both knew it was useless. Brock shook his head, amusement clear on his face.
"If you took more time to train and less to daydream, you might be able to get past me."
A panic began to rise in Sansa at the blocked accessway.
"Please Brock...I need to get through..."
She looked up to meet the startled gaze of the male. Her arm curled around him, fingers twisting onto his wrist. She remained unaware of the brush of her flesh, the soft stroke of her chest against his own or the way she had grown into a woman within these past few years. She didn't take any of this into account. Only the fact that she needed, must, had to- get to the lake.
The male sighed, "alright." He let her pass, lowering his arm. She smiled at him, passing through with a quick thank you before running into the woods.
Brock watched her go, examining the new curves along her body that had just started to show.
"How old is Sansa again?"
His voice carried into the home, drifting down a distant room. A reply was heard faint in the background, "fourteen now."
Brock shrugged his shoulders, a grin showing on his face.
"Maybe we're mates. You think it's possible?"
His question brought the appearance of another male. This one was older in age, with grey showing around the temples of his frame. He shook his head sadly at the young male.
"Don't get your hopes up, Brock...I don't think she's meant for you."
"Come on Warren- you have to admit there's a chance."
The old male only sighed, "she doesn't talk of other boys...I don't think her mate is here."
He winced at his words, an age-old wound pulled open from the sentence.
Brock examined the male, his eyes quick to detect the faint hurt that flashed through his body.
"Well... she needs to stop going into the woods alone every day."
