The blue mists broke smoothly before his stride as he entered the cool enclosure of the forest. Again he paused.
"Toffee...?" he found himself calling.
There was no answer.
He shoved ahead, and now there was a sort of anxiety in his step, and he took care not to break the stillness lest Toffee answer. An odd feeling of bereavement came over him, though he told himself it was foolish. After all, the girl was entirely imaginary, and a pack of trouble into the bargain. Then suddenly he stopped.
An odd murmuring seemed to come from the left. He moved in that direction, stopped to listen, then hurried on. Ahead he saw a dim lightness sketched through the trees, a suggestion of a clearing obscured by the dense branches. He approached it, parted the foliage and looked out. He stopped short.
Toffee sat in the middle of the clearing, her legs folded under her. Her eyes were closed and one slender hand was pressed to her forehead in an attitude of labored concentration. Her slight tunic, an emerald transparency at best, did little to conceal the impertinent perfection of her figure. She was leaning forward just a bit, and her flaming hair hung loose over her shoulders. She seemed to be chanting something to herself, though Marc couldn't make it out.
"Toffee...?" he said, and stepped forward to brace himself against the inevitable rush of brash affection.
The girl opened her eyes and looked around hastily.
"Sit down somewhere," she said, "and be quiet."
"Huh?" Marc asked.