Date: 2009-05-31 06:37 am (UTC)
hell_in_highheels: (golden eyes)
Wouldn't be the first time we had to hunt for our clothes, would it, love? Even in the fear and anticipation, she can't pass up that straight line.

Smirking, she follows him, head down.

There, she gestures towards a thicker part of the glade, a stand of hundred year old oak trees huddled together like old men in a windstorm. Does that look good?
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River Song

November 2009

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