[ IMAGINE ] : You go to visit Ross Poldark as he works in a field. You bring lunch and water for him.
[ A/N ] : The photos do not belong to me. English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.
[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] The Cornish sun beat down on the field, baking the earth to a dusty orange. I squinted against the glare, finally spotting Ross Poldark's familiar silhouette. He was bent low, his back a powerful curve against the swaying wheat. The rhythmic swish of his scythe cut through the air, a steady counterpoint to the chirping of crickets.
Approaching, I noticed the sweat glistening on his brow, the dust clinging to his dark hair. He was a picture of tireless industry, a stark contrast to the languid pace of the summer afternoon.
"Ross!" I called, my voice carrying on the gentle breeze.
He straightened, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. His gaze, sharp and piercing, met mine. A flicker of surprise, then a warm smile, softened the rugged lines of his face.
"Well now, what have we here?" he boomed, his voice roughened by the sun and effort.
I held up the wicker basket. "Thought you might be needing a bit of refreshment."
He grinned, resting his scythe against a sturdy oak. "Always welcome. Come, sit a while."
He gestured towards the shade of the tree, and I settled onto the cool earth, spreading a checkered cloth. The basket yielded crusty bread, thick slices of ham, a wedge of cheddar cheese, and a jug of chilled water.
He ate with a hearty appetite, leaning against the tree trunk, the exercise momentarily forgotten. The clink of the metal cup against the ewer, the soft rustle of the bread, and the quiet drone of the insects filled the air.