As he turned, he couldn't help but turn to glance once more at the light in Beth's window. It appeared that she was awake, but he did not dare to use any of his powers to try to divine what it was that she was doing. Just being this close to her hurt badly enough without him having to know each detail of what was going on with her at this moment. The pain of it had made him forget about the scent in the air, so he was a bit surprised when he saw the girl looking at him, and the sadness that was reflected in his eyes.
"It is not my poetry, I am afraid." Desmond said softly. "It was written by a human poet, named Percy Shelley, but he's more commonly referred to by just his last name."
"You don't need to worry. " he said, catching the look on her face. "You didn't offend me. This is not the first time I have had a dryad spy on me before." he said, breathing in her scent, remembering the way that the first trio of dryads had smelled. Whatever magic they had put upon him it was something that was forever burned into his memory like a brand.
"It's a nice night for dancing, isn't it?" he said, forcing a smile upon his lips. He didn't need to depress her with talk of the past, or why he was reciting a poem to a girl that more or less had only the faintest idea that he existed at all.