Syrah Grove Ardent, pt. 1

«…Sun was slightly past the zenith. Cicadas’ noises were so loud that I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. As were were passing a verdurous greenhouse I stumbled upon an old drinking fountain, way too abandoned but curiously functional.
“Here”, I said, “Help yourself, your high.. — I broke off — you look exhausted”
He squinted for a moment, but then smiled with both eyes and lips and followed my advice. A few minutes later we were on the go again, keeping silent for no reason, me watching water dripping from his wrists as he walked.
***
We reached a clearing in the woods and I had to request a halt. Not only because it was a regular well-being requirement from physicians but because I finally needed it myself, and to my surprise it was only me with such a need at that moment. I slowed down a bit stretching my arms and back. When distance between us was about 15 feet , he turned back and burst into subtle a-few-quick-seconds laughter which was a complete unique trait of his; indeed, I have never seen anything similar.
“Now, now, try not to fall back on me”, he smirked.
“ The language, highness. Wrong move, try again.”
“ Ah. Yield?”
“Recede?”
“Recede? Maybe. Watch out?”
“Not quite. Retreat, I’d say.”
“You’re treating yourself poorly if you say that.”
I beamed. Nice one for a nice day.
“Shall we stop here for a little?” I asked.
We did. I was laying out an offhand pitch while he struggled with silver cufflinks to roll up sleeves. If things like that happened, the weather was promising to be torrid.»