When a strange owl came up, Atlas was a bit confused, but nodded as he read her letter. He'd figured it was her's, and was glad she switched owls. He didn't want Bartholomew getting too tired.
I'll let you know what I come up with Sunday when I see you. And don't worry. It will be inventive.
What is your owl's name? You know mine, so it's only fair I know his.
A story eh? I'm not much of a writer but I'll give it a shot.
Crouched in the tree, the young, handsome man waited and watched for the woman. Other boys in his village had traveled to her cabin and come back with great tales of her beauty, but none of them had been brave enough to make their presences known to her. But this man was different. He was the bravest and fittest lad in the entire village, and he wasn't afraid to speak to any woman, no matter the scale of her beauty.
So he waited, and when she came out, moonlight glistening over her naked form, he was stunned. She was indeed the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. His throat was dry at the mere thought of speaking to her, and suddenly he knew what all the other men had been saying. She was so beautiful, how could he ever hope to win her heart? But he was the bravest, so he had to take his chance.
While her back was turned, the slow waves sliding over her skin, he quietly climbed out of the tree and crouched down at the trunk, just content to watch her for a moment. The curves of her body were mesmerizing, and his hands began to tingle at the notion of touching her. Gently caressing her body, holding her close.
But first. . . he had to introduce himself. So he gathered all his courage and stood, walking out towards the sandy shore. "It's a beautiful night for a swim," he said softly. There wasn't any way of getting around startling her, so he tried to be gentle. . .
He rolled the parchment up and handed it back to the bird. "Back to your mistress then," he said, then returned to staring at the fire.