Crouching Elf, Dreaming Peony
He slouched with an almost catlike grace next to the sultry flowers. His raven hair flowed over his naked shoulders. They shone like ivory in the westering sun. The heavy blossoms seemed to strain towards him, to caress him in pinks and violets and breath-taking purple, breathing their summer scent onto his skin.
But he was oblivious to that touch.
His fervour, his attention was completely captured by the one in front of him.
He exhaled ever so softly, allowed himself to fall forwards –
and expertly caught the frog that he intended to place in his brother’s bed that night.