She bumped into his side as her foot caught on an wry vine. She glanced off of him quickly, but the place were she had stuck him felt like ooz now, as though his skin were dripping off his bones and running down his leg. It was not pain, but it was certainly something strange. He rubbed his side briskly and refocused his eyes back upon his watch. The ooz returned. His fingers pressed down his side, half expecting to feel his skin seeping through the cloth of his shirt: sticking to his fingers

Before his thoughts could gather he felt her small hand grip his arm and pull it lightly to the right. His eyes observed as her fingers drifted away from his arm, but the ooz had now spread and surged like slugs burrowing into his skin--he eyed his arm curiously. He could feel his erratic nature curdling in his head, “Oh--please no,” he thought coldly.

He reached out impulsively and grabbed her hand, she eyed him startled, but did not speak, in fact her face was quite stiff and prim, as was the rest of her body. Leaning over her head he pressed his chest against her and then breathed. He could feel her thin arm reaching around him slowly, carefully--he grasped her in a rush of decision, hugging her perhaps too quickly and tightly. She made a little squeak.

“What am I doing?” He could of killed him self right then and there--had he gone completely out of his skull? He released her, and pretended to laugh, wishing terribly that there was a stick around sharp enough to stab him self with. “A hug, for giving me a great idea.” Her head tilted away from him, her eyes nearly shut.

“I think I too shall keep little note books as you do--a splendid Idea.”

He sucked his stomach way in till it hurt, the pain feeling nearly like pleasure as he tried hard to erase the asphyxiating sense of shame.

“A bit improper, but when I get excited about something, I just--I hug people--it’s what I do--terrible habit.” What a good lie.

“Oh, Philip, I--you did give me a scare--but it’s alight--in fact its rather laughable.”

“Yes, yes it is--thus my laughter.” He popped off a few weird laughs before he realized it was a bad idea.

“I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“I do this--I get so--I’m--you can ask anyone about me and they’ll say it all the same. I get overly passionate--I’m a bit erratic--some call me the crazy of the Brish family.”

“Oh, why, that’s rather mean of them.”

“Ah, no--I’m afraid it’s true, I am crazy--you shouldn’t take anything I say or do too seriously--I used to--I have found its easier not too. I get too many ideas in my head, and, I let them push me around.”

He quieted and eyed her form--thinking bubbling thoughts. She isn’t beautiful--not like Leza, no. She’s--well--not ugly--she’s--something different--like something from the earth, like something carved or crafted and let out to firm in the sun. Leza, is like snow, like silk, and fur--she is very beautiful--like a gift or a stunning splendor behind a shop window only the richest of the rich could ever hope to buy. He pretended to touch Leza, but it was hard to pretend, she seemed so very untouchable--a tension stung in his mind. He wanted to touch something--he pretended to touch the forest girl--in his mind’s imagining: it was warm--he pretend that she touched his arm again--his body felt heavy, wanted to lean, and feel--no. He bit his lip almost savagely: ashamed--of--something; he felt as though he was betraying his dear Leza, mucking up the purity of his mission by pretending such goofy and juvenile things. Dear, perhaps she knows how it is with men--and--our thoughts--perhaps I disturb her as I disturb myself. Anna didn’t appear very deterred by his presence, but, she did seem always a bit skittish, a bit flighty like a young bird that want to give the illusion to a predator that it could fly away at any time, when in fact, it could only flutter up a few feet with it’s green wings before hurling back to the ground.