He was imbued with the primal, elemental force of the very earth itself. His eyes were the reddish-brown of riverbed clay. His hair had the coarse texture of saw grass. He exuded a sense of immutable power yet possessed gentleness and solidity that made her feel safe and truly secure. He made love to her with such intensity and energy that she did not care that they never spoke.
She felt she might have dreamt his existence, entirely, if not for the slight swell of her belly and the inescapable knowledge that all women have that there is nascent life blooming within.
She needed him, needed to feel his reassuring embrace but he did not come. The winds of autumn were blowing and the kiss of frost forced the land into the somnolent state that heralds winter’s approach.
She sat in the cold wind and rain, her bloody, mud-stained hands searching for her absent love.