#salvarma

       Valentina was still hoping that sometime soon Beau would come to the cabin, she needed his help with something and had, unfortunately, come to the conclusion the help she had initially asked him for was...useless. Valentina was never going to know who the person bonded to her in an old witches vision was, really she should have asked for more clarity at the time. Of course, now that she needed his help with something practical, something Beau was probably capable of assisting with, she’d irritated him, all of their text messages just angry.

         So far, she’d been capable of doing things on her own. She’d taken some of the furniture from Beau’s servants quarters for herself and since he was still doing construction had stolen enough four by fours and various building supplies she’d been able to build a chicken coup next to the cabin, as well as a fence. Someone should have told Len that probably wasn’t in her rental agreement but she’d have ignored them anyway. By now though, she felt at home, each morning and afternoon coming out to feed her chickens.

           The sun was actually starting to set that day when Len was finally getting outside to feed the chickens, boots on and jeans with a flowing black cottagecore style top, she carried a small container in her hands she’d measured out some chicken feed into. “Kippen,” Valentina summoned as she stepped down from the porch of her home and into the fenced off area, the gate not locked but simply closed for the chickens, anyone capable of looking in and getting in themselves. “Etens tijd, kippen,” Len continued to speak in Dutch.

        The air smelled wet from the overnight rain as Len followed along the path through the woods, she loved the smell, a stark contrast to the heavy weight of petrol and various other gases that hung grotesquely in the air of the streets. This was better, able to inhale deeply Len drew in the dew and sap and moss that just made her want to melt into the ground. 

          That wasn’t all that was there though, Len smelt him well before she saw him. The pine on his skin may have been easily hidden in the woods but the mint on his lips was far more obvious, mint not typically something one just found on the ground. He was a picture clear in her mind. The first man in town who had decided she was too pretty for something but certainly not the last. Focusing on his scent she kept walking, adjusting her path to move towards it, her white dress tight around her bodice and then flowing from her hips, bouncing as she moved. 

         “Handsome,” Len addressed, knowing she has said she wouldn’t call him that but considering he’d commented on her looks before she felt less worried about being considerate. “Any chance you could give men a hand again?”