He was observing her from afar, too dearly interested in the color of her hair to look away. True, other parts were interesting about her . . . like the shape of calves or the curve of earrings dangling from ear and ear. He just found her hair to be the most interesting. It was such a vivid color like an orangish brandy upon the rocks. He knew nothing of alcohol, of course, but if he did, that's what he would have compared it to.

His handler was elsewhere, again, so he took the time to near her so long eyes were not upon him. A hand once twined with its opposite broke loose and snaked forward of its own accord, curiosity fueling its action. Slowly, three balled fingers rested on the crook of her noggin. It ran down slowly and gently and he reveled in the mysterious feeling that was called hair.

How pretty.