Moonspear addling in ephemerality

He does not wish to pull away from her so quickly, but he does so, having fallen in to this dance as effortlessly as he would have fallen in to battle; this was far less aggressive than anything he is accustomed to, like a wolfish form of tai-chi, but the fact that he is moving with her, spending time with her, is all that matters. Lazarus would not harm a hair upon her head even to save his own hide; or so he tells himself. She slips close and reaches, biting, nipping, and catches at his tail. He wheels around in kind, and once again reaches with his own teeth to drag a grin through the pitch of her coat. He would dance with her for hours if it meant they could stay like this, together, without the prying eyes of the boy king to intervene. Deep within, Lazarus feels a great swell of pride in himself, a twinge of greedy pleasure, for he knows that they are sharing something that even Charon would not understand. Perhaps he is being foolish and his obsession is coloring his thoughts, but Lazarus firmly believes in this.