Kurt watches from behind the wall of water. He’s lucky that much of the rock underneath the waterfall had not yet worn away, meaning it is the perfect hiding place. Quietly, he lights the fuse line of the musket. When he had seen the reflection of the figure in the water cupped in his hands his heart had started racing and he’s finding it hard to slow its beat. The veil of water makes it hard to see through but Kurt can still make out the figure as they slowly creep out from the bushes.

Kurt doesn't dare move, only blowing on the fuse to entice the burn into life and make it stronger. The stranger - the savage - creeps to the edge of the river and then nimbly jumps onto one of the rocks that breaks the surface. And then again, and again, until he passes Kurt.

He leaps then, breaking through the cascade of water and coming to rest on one of the rocks the savage had vacated. He lands gracefully, kneeling on one knee, gun ready and aiming. But there he freezes, because this savage - no, this man - is more beautiful than anyone else Kurt has seen, even though he’s partly obscured by the mist.

He isn't as tall as Kurt, but when he straightens himself, he holds his head high. Kurt's eyes rake over his entire form. His feet are bare, glistening with water where they stand on the flat rock. His legs are clothed in animal skin, shaping them and leaving little to the imagination. Hip bones jut out above the clothes, tan skin stretches up his defined chest and over broad shoulders, melting into arms that look so strong that they could break Kurt in a second, and Kurt is a strong man. Tanned hands hang by his side, earthy and worn from, he assumes, working and moving through the woods and, wrapped around his wrist, is a bracelet fashioned from clay beads and string. A light dusting of hair graces his chest, reappearing at his navel and disappearing south. But despite the wide expanse of strength, grace and beauty in this man's body, it holds no competition to his face.

A strong jaw leading up into high cheekbones, a straight angular nose and his beautiful tanned skin. Full lips, a little pink, are unsmiling though he isn't frowning. His hazel eyes hide thousands of emotions that Kurt can only begin to fathom. Thick eyebrows lead up into a high, strong forehead and dark hair pulled back and tied, leaving all his features exposed.

Kurt knows he is staring, knows his mouth is hanging open but all he can think about is how beautiful this stranger is, about how much he wants to be closer to him, talk to him, to reach out and touch him. He has always known he has been more attracted to men than to women but all England could offer him were overweight, unkempt, unhygienic and scraggly bearded oafs. This person was clearly strong, fit and, although uncivilised, well groomed.

Slowly, Kurt raises himself up from his knees, gently pulling the strap of the gun over his head, careful of his hair, and places it at his feet. He never once takes his eyes off the man, mesmerised of how proud and tall he stands despite the two or three inches in height difference. He needs to be closer to him, the desire is so strong and he knows it isn't going to fade. The overwhelming want to reach out, to map his chest and learn every curve and contour of that body is too much and so, as careful as he had risen, Kurt slides into the water. The tan man watches him, wary, turning his head and narrowing his eyes slightly. Despite the circumstance, Kurt feels his stomach flip - this magnificent man is watching him. He wades silently through the flowing water, working against the push trying to send him downstream.

The Indian moves suddenly, looking startled, as if he is just realising how close Kurt is to him. He takes a tentative step back and Kurt’s hand reaches up instinctively to try and calm him but this only spooks him more. In an instant, he has bounded off the rock, his powerful legs propelling him to the river bank. He’s running when he hits the ground, already disappearing into the trees.

“No! Wait!” Kurt shouts, moving to follow him. He can’t lose him, can’t lose that face. “Wait, please!”

He’s gone before Kurt can finish his sentence and Kurt doesn’t dare waste any time. He pushes his way through the water, pulling his gun from where he left it on the rock and follows.

I’m not going to lose him, he vows. I’m not.

***

Blaine’s running before he can fully think of what he is doing, or what he was doing. Essentially he was following a stranger through the forests, watching him, but he’s suddenly terrified that this will have a much bigger impact on him that he previously realised.

He weaves expertly through the trees and saplings. There’s a canoe not too far away, where he left it this morning before he went hunting. He’ll just get in it and swim home, away from that man where he can think clearly. Blaine hears a shout from behind him and feels his stomach twist at the musical voice. He can’t help but feel like the spirits are telling him to stay but he just needs to breathe, needs a chance to clear his head.

Blaine breaks through the trees and sprints the short distance to the boat. Meeko and Pavarotti have caught up with him and following closely behind his feet. He jumps into the hallowed out tree trunk as he hears the voice behind him grow louder.

Though he doesn’t understand what the pale man is saying, Blaine knows his tone - he’s pleading with him. He goes against his better judgment and turns to see the pale man looking at him with desperation. Blaine eyes him warily as he edges closer, speaking in tone so soft that Blaine wants to curl up in it. When he holds out a hand, Blaine can only stare at it. The stranger says something again and Blaine wishes he knew what that magical voice was saying.

“I don’t understand,” Blaine says, and quickly realises that this man can’t possibly be able to understand him either, but it doesn’t stop Blaine from noticing how his beautiful face softens when he speaks again.

The stranger offers his hand once more and this time Blaine considers it. Well, more so than before. He says something in the same soft voice that Blaine wants so badly to trust and he looks up into the bright blue eyes. There is so much in those eyes at that moment and the growing smile is something Blaine can’t ignore. Blaine can feel himself being drawn in, hypnotised by the stranger. He can feel all the spirits, of the winds and of nature, holding him here in this moment; this is where he is meant to be. When he moves, it is as though he is not in control of his body, but he is aware and sure of everything he does as he reaches out to take hold of the outstretched hand.

The stark contrast between the two colours of skin holds Blaine’s attention for some moments and he can’t seem to stop looking at the hands. This hand is so strange, so foreign, so soft. If Blaine can’t wrap himself up in this man’s voice, he’ll gladly take his hands. Something is holding their hands together, encircling them, and Blaine doesn’t think he’d be able to let go if he wanted to.

The pale man slowly pulls him up and out of the boat and Blaine is staring up in quiet awe at him. He is so much more beautiful this close up. His eyes, his lips, his strong jaw and neck capture his attention briefly before Blaine is staring back into his eyes again. There is an exciting feeling in his hand where they touch, energy that he can’t begin to understand. He can feel the spirits around him, like a gentle breeze washing over them. The stranger speaks again and Blaine closes his eyes to the sound. He wants so much to understand him and to answer him when he feels it.

The spirits seem to enter him, fill him entirely. The energy he felt in his hand is now running through him, through his arms, his legs, his stomach, his chest…

Who are you?

 The man’s voice is rushing in his ears, soft, gentle and oh so clear! He can understand him! Blaine knows what he is saying! He can still feel the spirits inside him and knows that they are to thank, Mother Nature and the winds.

Who are you?

He doesn’t have to think about it, just knows what to say, so he whispers, “Blaine”.

The pale man stares at him, completely shocked, mouth slightly agape. “What?” he breathes, wide eyed, “What did you say?”

“My name is Blaine,” he says. He never thought about what he had to say, it just flowed out of him, like he had been speaking these words his entire life. He watches the stranger’s face, watches how it lights up when he realises just what is happening. The sight makes Blaine chest tight and his heart soar.

The stranger speaks then, smiling like he will never be able to stop.

“I’m Kurt Hummel.”