Ravensblood Forest who do you turn to when the night is darkest?

he moves to press his forehead against his, and his request is simple. "never." she's still, and ought to have been content at this, and large part of her is. but fire nestles close to her skin, a kind of slow-searing burn that has her break contact after a long moment. she dips her muzzle beneath his throat once more, but merely cleans away the blood that is gathered there, movements firm. then she pauses and is still, and deep in her throat hums a draconic note. it is gutteral but wanting, and her stillness is the greatest invite he'll recieve.