He stopped.
Stared at the door.
Then the corner of his mouth moved.
He pulled his shirt down. Straightened his jacket. Looked down at himself — presentable, mostly. A few things she would question if she was looking for things to question. He took the towel from the small wooden protrusion that the tree had grown for exactly this kind of purpose and wrapped it around his lower half, his trousers still in his hands.
He opened the door.
"Oh—" he said. "Gwen?"
She was standing outside the tree-room door with a bow in her hand — Bella had apparently returned it at some point, or Gwen had found a way to acquire it, and the bow was at her side now, held in her left fist with the particular grip of someone who had carried it so long it felt wrong not to.
Her hair was loose, slightly windswept from the garden.
Her green dress — still the travel-worn one, nobody had apparently gotten her a new one yet — was straight.
Her eyes went from his face to the towel.
To the tree door.
