The rain fell on the grass softly. It was not this night's rain, it had fallen this afternoon and had been caught up in the leaves of the great oak tree. A small breeze had shaken it loose and sent it spilling to the ground in a soft patter of water and green.
A boy lounged on another part of the hill where the grass had dried after the rain. He waited impatiently by tapping his feet and wiggling his fingers. There was no pattern to his movement, he only did it because he had no other way to make sure time was moving without noticing himself moving. So he wiggled his fingers so he could see time moving and tapped his feet to feel time slipping by and waited for her to come.
She came moments later from behind him under the great oak. She stepped softly, so softly that the birds, now asleep in the tree, did not even murmur as she passed beneath their lofty nests. She avoided every twig and crinkling leaf. She was as silent as the moon itself which was only now rising over the hill.