![]() ![]() Her movement spoke, communicated in a language older than any he knew. She turned her back to him, hips beckoning in that ageless, ancient way. Graceful hands flowed around her body, above her head, almost hypnotic in flow.Īs he watched, he realized, he knew this dance. Her eyes were closed, her body surrendered to the eastern, erotic flow of the music. He stood behind, watching, allowing the sway of her body to communicate, to speak. Her gown, her veils were diaphanous, transparent, and in the glow of the moon, he could see the length of her leg, the sweet curve of her buttocks, the soft indention of her waist. ![]() She stood with her back to him, swaying gently to the music, arms out, hands poetic. He was suddenly close enough to touch her.Īnd decided, no. I think I would rather have the fist of the Big Elf in my face rather than this… this… He strode off towards her, tired of the constant rifling of his mind, of his every thought turning to her, like waves in the desert, the dunes, turning to face the wind. His eyes slowly opened, looking and finding. The heat, the feel of the sand around his bare feet, robes light, moving in the breeze.Īgain, the music, floating on the stifling heated air. The Voyeur did not have to open his eyes. ![]() The Mystics Dream or Speak to me of love and roses and wolf howls. ![]()
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