Swiftcurrent Creek I keep you warm and won't ask you where you've been

He makes it easy to forget her ire, at least; seeing the grief in his expression softens her own. There is no self-pity in his tone — only guilt and sorrow, two things she can relate to more than most. She hesitates, silent for several moments after his apology. There's little she can think to say in this situation, as the woman who'd stolen from him as much as he'd stolen from her; even if he finds his mate, she's certain it won't end well now that she's involved. She takes a deep breath, eyes searching his face. I'm sorry, She says finally, echoing his apology much more softly and taking a step closer to press her nose to his shoulder. The touch is brief, and she steps back a beat later, falling silent. There's nothing else to say at this point.