The night wind of White Wax Island slid down from the treetops, carrying the faint resinous scent of white wax trees. At some point, the two people in the bushes had fallen asleep.
Roy leaned against a white wax trunk, one leg curled up and the other stretched out into the thorny leaves.
Mila lay on her side in his arms, half her ponytail undone, strands of hair tangled around the buttons of Roy's coat.
Roy's arm rested over her shoulder, his dangling fingers just touching the small mole beneath her earlobe.
Mila's breathing was even and shallow, her breath brushing Roy's neck and dampening a small patch of fabric at his collar.
The bushes at their feet had been trampled into a modest hollow, and several white wax leaves had fallen onto the tips of Mila's loose hair.
A few crisp rooster crows came from the direction of the commercial street.
There was an old man on White Wax Island who raised chickens. Every day before sunrise, he opened the coop right on time, and all of White Wax Town could hear it.
The eastern horizon began to pale with a thin wash of dawn. The light in the forest slowly shifted from inky blue to light gray, then to a bluish hue tinged with faint gold.
The villa door opened.
Gwen came out wearing only a beige blanket.
Marcus had left the blanket in a villa cabinet beforehand. It was woven from coarse wool spun on a white wax loom—none too thick, but very warm.
Barefoot, she stepped over the dew beaded on the wooden steps and entered White Wax Forest.
She wanted to pick a few young white wax leaves before sunrise and place them in the rough clay vase in the bedroom.
Yesterday, Marcus had casually