Spyro, called Alpheos had watched the deiva called Arethusa for a long time.  She was beautiful and seemed sweet and gentle and kind.  However, every time he approached her, he was rebuffed.

 Her rebuttals gave lie to her normally sweet demeanor.  In stark contrast to the sweet, almost demure smiles she sent to all the deiva at court, she was harsh whenever she snubbed the young lord of the Rivers Marches.

 “You’d think I’d learn,” he murmured to one of his guard captains after one such rebuttal.

 “I don’t know, sir,” Captain Ceraunos said.  “I think you’re wearing her down.” 

 Spyro looked down at the small hal-deiva, trying to gauge if he was being teased.  The open smile made him consider the youngster’s words.   “Perhaps,” he said softly.

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