Moonspear count your fears if you let me

She moved to hold him in a comforting sort of wolf-hug. She remembered the first time they had ever met, and she thought of now... how far they'd come. How much they'd shared. Fuck Rannoch, he could go, that scared pleb. At least she had—

Wait. 

She withdrew, backpedaling quickly and now her own ears splaying flat atop her crown. The look she gave him could be likened to the fear one displayed when one knew another was about to deliver a fatal wound. What? She breathed, feeling suddenly quite unsteady. Sorry, I think— she laughed a little, shaking her head, her tone very nearly begging him to not repeat himself: what did you just say?