Feathers -eng ver-

Chapter 4- News From Palace

After that afternoon on the hillside, Estel had created no other kind of contact with the foreigner, except for some occasional -and strictly verbal- ones. He had spent the next week and a half watching her, as he had always done.

In three weeks, the two had spoken very little. Essentially because of the black-haired man's constant busy schedule in an attempt to avoid the girl who, in the meantime, had formed a nice relationship with the three young men who were her hosts.

Neither of the two had mentioned that meeting to the other family members. Mikhael wouldn't have been able to keep it a secret and would have gone and told -even unintentionally- Narith or Noya, who would surely have scolded Estel for his improper and above all unkind "way of speaking". In addition, the black-haired man had no desire to put up with the impertinent glances of Mikhael who, as usual, would have taken advantage of the situation and started tormenting him.

They had pretended nothing had happened, ignoring the tension that was increasing day by day.

He spent most of his time watching her from afar, sketching her slender figure in quick little sketches. He accumulated all of Len's images in a small leather notebook that he jealously kept hidden from the men with whom he shared his life. Occasionally Mikhael would point out his moments of trance, and he would simply give a small, arrogant smile, then go back to doing what he was doing.

For the past three days in particular, Narith, Mikhael and Noya had agreed that something had snapped inside the youngest man.

No matter how hard he tried not to show it, Estel was drawn to the girl like a bee to a flower; and he hated being seen like that, both by the three men and by Len. That was why he kept avoiding her. Even at night he found himself in her presence: he saw her there, lying on the small sofa that Noya usually occupied, with the pale sunlight filtering through the curtains and gently caressing her skin. In his dreams, however, she wasn't tense and or intimidated or embarrassed by his presence.

Perhaps it was thanks to those dreams that the three men had been able to notice the tiny change in Estel. But they had done or said nothing, leaving him time to think about it.

          At the end of the three weeks, there began to be a new happiness inside the house, caused by the imminent return of Han, the mysterious man Len had not met yet. Everyone was happy about his return, and everyone was looking forward to seeing his figure appear in front of the wooden door.

~~~

In front of the crackling fire, Narith let his head rest on the back of his hands, supported by his elbows, which were leaning on his knees. In religious silence, he waited to hear the creak of the front door being opened, as he had done for the past four days.

With his gaze lost, he let his mind float in his own personal ocean of thoughts and memories, pondering and retracing his life up to that moment, wondering how many more times he would have to get to know and become attached to someone only to have them abandon him. And as he stood there, contemplating the red and orange flames, the door opened with a faint creak. He didn't even notice, too enchanted by the dancing fire.

The man entered with a slow, tired step and approached the brunette seated in front of the hearth, then dropped wearily into a chair, sighing. The flames dyed his pale skin golden, and his small, narrow eyes had red and orange reflections, making them look like two lakes of lava. A calm, peaceful expression reigned supreme on his face and his gaze wandered around the room, waiting for Narith to return from one of his "mental journeys".

He began to contemplate the other, so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't even hear him enter. He sighed again, hoping that a noise other than the crackling of fire would help his friend out of his trance-like state. A few moments later, noticing his friend's presence as he had finally returned home, the dragon sat up straight. «Narith, still can't sleep peacefully? What are you doing awake at this hour?» The man's voice was low and soft, barely audible over the soothing crackle of the flames.