Perhaps, Keith thinks, it is the white sand that takes his breath away... or perhaps, it is the quiet spark in Ewen's eyes. But it does not matter, and he surrenders gladly--he is bound to this place now. In the darkness, by the peaceful water of the loch, Ewen's hands find his own--and his fingers are a flurry of tenderness, and they don't let go.
Hands (The flight of the heron, Keith/Ewen, fix-it).