Northstar Vale a grin as sharp as a knife (mtr.)

She is not thinking;
or, rather, the thoughts become an instinct in its own primeval edict; can he not scent her? Remember what it felt like to be nestled against her? Within her? Her mind is filled with him, brimming, brimming, and when he finally stills her, dark and hulking; ravaged, ravishing her; and to feel the stretch and swell of sinews of this ensnared beast, tonttu reaches out. Reaches until her pale, pinked nose, for the second  (third? fourth?)  time again presses against the evespun, scarred ruff of his neck, the rigid muscle therein and she feels the enquiry that startles her, arrests her; so much so that she is held in raptured imprisonment. Until:

“Only this ... and truths, and trust,”  breath wilting in throat upon the edge of an anguished hum; somehow speaking past the wishful worrying of teeth. Lashes unfurl, ache ebbing in a moment of entreating; gazing up at him from where she is tucked against the midnight alcove of his breast.  “I must have them, if I am to give my own,”
knew that he wondered towards the corpreal of them; if she would wend herself 'round him and he twine with her; a tethering; but if they are to, she thinks, hold and heal another, the fée only longs for such equality that had been bereft of her, when last she lie in her Rest.

Trilling caught between lungs and throat, she, while awaiting his answer, nips elfin at the misted air just shy of his chin.