"Lift me down," she said.
Perhaps at any other time I would have remarked that this request was rather unusual, considering the fact that she was very light and sure of action, extremely proud of it, and likely to be insulted by an offer of assistance.

But my spirit was dead.

I reached for her hands, but they eluded mine, slipped up my arms as she came sliding out of the saddle, and then her face was very close to mine.

"Russ!" she whispered.

It was torment, wistfulness, uncertainty, and yet tenderness all in one little whisper.