Whitewater Gorge only one remained to haunt me.

A pink flash, her tongue darting out to lick her lips nervously as her small form is cast in shadow by the gentle giant. His ministrations are met with a soft gasp of pain, snowy eyelids aflutter as she clings to conciousness. 

The tension leaves her, beaten body gone pliant and limp, she's little choice but to accept his kindness though she's not without gratitude. An expression of thanks escapes her lips, unintelligible and garbled - a mix of northern and common. 

Her gaze finds him without intention; though instincts demand she look away and avoid his eyes directly, she searches his summer orbs reblliously in confusion: now what?