She smelled of flower petals and girlish sweat. On her own-if she were free-she would spend all day in the forest, running and giggling, breathless, collapsing against the foliage with a satisfied sigh. She was like a child. She was a child.
She was small and defenseless. When frightened her voice would heighten in a frantic hitch, her breathing would quicken and her hair would cling to her heart-shaped face, and down the nape of her sticky neck. When she needed comforting he would take her in his arms and hold her; when her face was buried in his chest he would whisper things that soothed her, not knowing what they were even as they escaped his lips.
In those times, he would hold her until she stopped crying. He held her tightly and breathed deeply, her scent wafting into his nostrils. She smelled of orchids: innocence. Her scent was nostalgia.
She would be gone, soon, just as she was-but for now, she was with him, and he would protect her.