The Wall you should have forgotten my name the day you heard it

And rest she did;
letting the frostmade furs of them meld in the quieted lulls whenever the blustery winds diminished enough for the fée to feel the beat of the crestwolf's heart beneath shorn cheek; and had they not been wavering in such a manner amongst the top of the world  (or, halfway, at least)  the musiker's Mondmädchen might have simply crescented into the looming stature of the male before her; might have kept herself against the warmth of him and surrendered to some unending slumber;
as it were, however, Andraste remained mute, and so settled with the soft scything of fangs throughout the plush thatch of ivory-laden breast; a healing and humming thing; a half-absent and heavy-lidded thing; a hopeless and hesitant thing.

For now, she is content to remain such a stranger  —  as oft she prefers. Nameless, mouthless, eyeless and without such things as trivial as rank and circumstance to burden all that she would like to feel and to know.