Witch's Marsh going on tilt

"Okay," she said. It was as if he had been adrift in the ocean, thrashing, panicking, thinking he might soon drown, and that single word, her immediate agreement to come with him, was the life preserver he was thrown. Now hanging on to it, he was wreathed in a calm and peace befitting someone who believed all their woes were now inconsequential, that they had been saved from the fate they feared, that all would be well going forward.

He gazed at her with a great degree of fondness, his mouth formed into an affectionate smile that had not graced his countenance in some time. Luke stepped into her, brushing his nose across her ear and nuzzling into her neck with a soft croon.

Some part of him did not think she would agree, but another part had not only hoped she would, but was utterly convinced there was no chance she would say no. Yet, he did not exactly where he wanted to take her, nor what exactly he intended to do. He had no plan past the sudden one that lead him here in the first place. His traumatized mind had simply latched on to her as the light in the dark, and for now he was content to be near to her.

He nosed into the soft fur of her shoulder, and planted a tender kiss on the soft skin beneath.