Dragoncrest Cliffs The Flower which grows best in the dark

The gears of her mind had been churning as fast as the male's, but her feelings were much more undecided.  She did not understand precisely why she felt the need to avoid him and it bothered her, but she couldn't just cast the feeling aside and act like it wasn't present; she feared if she spoke with him and her unease was as palpable as it was now she would stop mystifying him and it was that perhaps that she feared most of all.

That she could would inevitably become boring, and he'd forget about her just like everyone else had.

But he was not everyone else, and she knew it was unfair to spurn him so — was that not what she had feared in their meeting with the Fleimkepa?  That he would cast her aside?  Her head stays low as she moves towards him, broken-dish eyes meeting his glowing suns in the night.  

Maybe it is not too late to make it up to him, and deal with these feelings later.  Maybe she could stuff them down.

She does not speak as she comes close, pressing himself against his side in comfort if he allows it.  Corva is not certain whether or not she has the words to assuage his fears, but perhaps her presence will do the job.