It was a normal summer evening. Flora sat by the river, dropping stones into the flowing water and watching them sink down. Her cotton tunic clung to her as the [burning] sun fell below the tree line. Looking around, she gently began to peel off the layers of clothing from her damp skin. Slipping off her undergarments, she waded slowly into the cool water. As the icy liquid lapped around her waist, she sucked in her breath, plunging her body under the crystal clear water. She forced her eyes open, looking around as the water rushed through her hair. Her mother had always warned against swimming in the river. “Those currents shall sweep your feet from under you and carry you down to the Dark Lake,” she’d say, a stern look in her eyes. Flora had assure her that she had a sure footing but her mother had forbade her to go down to the river, in spite of Flora’s [arguing].

 She had still managed to sneak out of the castle walls, telling her handmaidens that she was going down to the stables to feed her mare. The Shanta and Lyra despised the stench of horses that stuck to your clothes, along with the foul manner of the peasant stable boys. Flora didn’t mind it. She had walked straight out of the castle gates, without a problem, telling anyone who asked that her handmaidens had arranged a carriage to take her in to town to visit the Great Market.

A school of sticklebat streamed past her, splitting around her waist and momentarily engulfing her in a blanket of slippery red scales. She stretched her fingers out, reaching for the tiny fish as they darted away, slipping into that undercurrents that carried them away. Then the familiar stinging began. She felt her heart begin to beat faster in her ears and throat, a fire beginning to burn in her lungs as her body struggled for air. Reluctantly, she placed her feet on the smooth, mossy riverbed and pushing her body out of the cool water. She took a deep breath as her body hit the surface, shivering as the cool breeze brushed against her wet skin. She opened her eyes, seeing the vibrant amber sky as sunset loomed. It was getting late, mother would be looking for her. She couldn’t stand another lecture from mother. She turned back to the bank of the river to where her clothes had laid.

A young man, only a few years older than her stood on the bank, pinching her undergarments between thumb forefingers, inspecting them with half-curiosity, half-pleasure. Flora yelped, ducking her head under the water, once more and throwing her arm over her breasts, blushing. She heard a voice, muffled by the water in her ears. She peaked only her head out of the water, taking care to cover the rest of herself with her hands as she grew increasingly aware of how transparent the water around her was. “Goodness, fair maiden, I’m so terribly sorry,” the boy stuttered. He had spun around, his back facing Flora. “I swear by the gods I didn’t know you were there. I was not watching you. I was just walking along the riverbank with my dog. I meant not any harm. I found your clothes and then you appeared… without clothes.”

A giggle escaped Flora’s mouth. She waded out of the river and stood over her clothes. “May I please have my undergarments,” she laughed. The boy had forgotten to drop them as he had turned around, flustered at the sight of the naked girl.

“Good gods, yes, of course, I’m sorry. Here.” He craned his arm around, taking care to close his eyes as he handed Flora the cloth. Flora looked around as she pulled her clothes back on.

“I don’t see a dog,” she remarked, pulling her tunic over her head. “You may turn around.”
“Yes, you see, he ran off and I was loo-” the boy froze as he turned around to look at Flora. “You’re- you’re Lady Ringwell. Oh gods help me. I’ll be hung. Forgive me m’lady.” He bowed low, before dropping to her feet. “Pray, believe me, I was not peeping. Please don’t take my head.”

Flora laughed again, “Lady Ringwell is my mother. I’m simply Flora. Mother tells me I’m not fit for the label of a Lady. And don’t worry, your head is safe on your shoulders. Do stand up. You’ll dirty your clothes in the mud. What may I call you?”

“Tom,” he said, rising to his feet but keeping his head bowed low.

“Of course it is,” Flora chuckled, running her fingers through her auburn locks and tying them back from her face loosely with a ribbon from around her wrist. “Peeping Tom.”