Northstar Vale a grin as sharp as a knife (mtr.)

"No, surely; but you bit kunnhehku."
The unthinking snip of her words is nigh instinctive, what with how warrented she feels she is to his incessant plaguing. But it is not until her shorn spine shivers against the woad-woven musculature of his own and an old stirring comes to perch thereabouts her loins that Andraste ... fancies what manner of error she has just made. Evermoreso, now that she has stepped into Cúivenen and now rests with sensitive shoulderblades against what-ever middling part of his back. The fée is as thin as parchment, so much so that oft it seems the worldsun shines through her;
and she does not doubt the very truth that Melkor might feel the flurried strum of her heart, rooted in the chambers of her breathless breast.

Flustered in a manner that is not at all like the siren who had initiated him; but escape, however fleeting, is to be found in the relieving lurch from skinship in favor of working the waters o'er throat and ruff. There is some paltry excuse of  "You never did tell me wh— ah, what such a word means,"  praying that this might divert his knowing of how she had fallen percisely into her own snare.