Bearclaw Valley pickin' me a bouquet of dogwood flowers

the den was a hallowed place where the dark man could not reach her.  she was swept easily into his joyous embrace, her mouth finding the yielding bulb of his ear.

she did not know where this newfound confidence came from (and she did not know it would later recede; healing is not linear) but she grips it with greedy white knuckles and guards it with flashing teeth, using this bravery to breach a question she wasn't quite sure how to articulate.

she gave her head one vigourous shake, yes, and she tured to him with her eyes glistening, expectant.  us,  she said with a heavy tone, gesturing between herself and her companion.  she did not want to grow close again, she did not want to have to worry her feelings if he did not return them.  she wanted to be able to suffocate them here and now lest she grow more attached to the man who had, so far in her life, offered her everything she knew.

but on the off chance that he did want her, that she would be enough for him.. she wanted to know that, too.