Heron Lake Plateau when the night is done, you’ll vanish in the sun

There is something that swells inside her as Raven's foreleg drapes drowsy around her shoulders.  They are two women, secret and shifting, embraced beneath the soft, dying golden breath of twilight.  She can't help the way she tenses and tingles and flutters, the twist in her heart, even if it can't last.  Even if it's wrong.  That last bit is something new.  She's always had such a strong moral compass that this should be abhorrent to her, but she can't bring herself to associate feeling like that with how she sees Raven.  

He doesn't have to know.  Wait, no, shit, not like that.  Quickly, she rectifies, I mean, nothing has to change.  Nothing has to happen.  I just.. wanted it to?  Say it.  Say it, you dumb bitch, you can't make anything worse than it is.  No, she knows.  She pulls back and laughs, but the sound is hollow and empty.  I don't think Quixote would like sharing too much.  And I think he might be a little too traditional for anything other than monogamy.

So where does that leave us?  You already know what you mean to me, Rave.  And if that meant tempering herself to watch Raven lead her life from the sidelines.. well, she wasn't sure if she could handle that but she'd do her damn best to try.  We can try.  Or not.  I'll, y'know.  She shrugged, swept her paw again in a vague gesture.  I'm sure I'll be okay.