Moonspear addling in ephemerality

There were many things he would do for her, if she only asked. They sat in silence for a minute or two - and he, oblivious to her unease, settled contentedly close. As the woman rose and bowed to stretch, Lazarus watched her. He studied the curve of her body as she moved, the muscles, the tightness of the flesh; his mind wandered only briefly across the things he could do with that flesh, but knew that he would never attempt so long as he had rivals. This is what he told himself, anyways. Mentally holding back, keeping calm, so that she be none the wiser. It was mildly thrilling to watch her move.

Then she was up and walking, and Lazarus got to his feet in one fluid motion, slow but sure, and was intent to follow her if she chose to peruse the borders. At first this is what he thinks she wants - a companion. Someone to keep her company as she runs her daily errands. But then she turns and looks to him, and that look speaks volumes. He reads too far in to it, of course. There is a thrilling sensation rolling down his spine as their gazes meet, and he lets out a pleasant little rumble, advancing towards her. Whatever happens next is entirely up to her - she may seek a spar, but he has a wholly different agenda.