Sunbeam Lair ❝elyë lantanë melmessë sonen,❞

He retreats from her and she aches; but returns, then, with ribs pressed crescenting against her own as her shorn cheek lies upon stout shoulder. If only if only if only she had not taken such flight from his world;
to be unraveled, here; to be ravished where any and all might know. Undómiel be sinister willing, where the stately General was not, for  when the whites of eyes found the gathering of her, taken up in arms as bouquet ruined upon riotous battlefront. The knowing in such an instance; and the hum of lips at ear; and so Andraste may very well be rattling together their bones, with all the shivers of her own. Yet through his diminishing of her, there is a remaining snippet of sanity that lets her listen to that which he muses.

Assurances, accommodations;
the gazing upon him is inevitable, nonnegotiable, as Mahler crowds her, cradles her, and the fée is smothered with the spirescent of him, smitten of it; lungs made frail and shuddering. Shy still of stoneflower eyes seeking her own; but meets his gaze with a quivering manner of quiet as he speaks further —
weaning would allow her one moon to spend with their kinder; one moon a testament to whether she would rise to the trial of this; for the more surer climes of motherhood she had all but banished her own self from. And, now ... she now knew much better.

Reaching; lips press featherlight; part with a weakened breath of all Andraste has to say on the very proposition: "I suppose that it ... would be good practice,"
a shivering, slow sigh; whatever selfish sorrowing for now put aside:  "You must show me what you have learnt from it,"  and here lashes laden with loving and longing unveil halfsights once more; finally finally to rest upon his searchings. Yet that smile fades into insignificance as something impassioned gentles her desecrated features;
scythes soft the tips of fangs upon the mauve lower lip; daring at his devouring.