“Tessa!” he cried out suddenly, his voice echoig off the rocks. “Tessa!”
“Tessa!” The voice echoed in her ear, a ragged shout. She sat bolt upright on the riverbank, her body trembling.
“Will?” She scrambled to her feet and looked around. The moon had passed behind a cloud. The sky above was like dark gray marble, shot through with veins of black. The river ran before her, dark gray in the poor light, and glancing around, she saw only gnarled trees, the steep cli down which she had fallen, a broad swatch of countryside stretching away in the other direction— elds and stone fences, the occasionally distant dotting of a farmhouse or habitation. She could see nothing like a city or a town, not even a cluster of lights that might have indicated a tiny hamlet.
“Will,” she whispered again, drawing her arms about herself. She was sure it had been his voice she had heard calling her name. No one else’s voice sounded like his. But it was ridiculous. He was not here. He could not be. Perhaps, like Jane Eyre, who had heard Rochester’s voice calling for her on the moors, she was half-dreaming.
Missing these moments…
Oliver and Fel-ic-ity.
from Pinterest http://pinterest.com/pin/351421577145363599/
It’s just… staying
"I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful, and uncomprehending in the face of the happy."
based on this
"He’s your brother?”
"Of course he’s my brother.”
Happy Valentine’s day to you all <3 !
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