What had it been, seven years? Yes, he'd just celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday. And yet seven years hadn't diminished that desire he held for the witch before him. She'd led a quiet life after the War― single, he noted. Still sticking her pert nose into books, a quality he found endearing rather than annoying.
He only realized he was smiling when she looked up and caught his eyes. A real fear trembled there, and something else. Something like pain. What did she have to fear? What, or who, would possibly hurt her?
Before he could react, she fled his sight.