Whitebark Stream when that strange shape drove suddenly betwixt us and the Sun [mtr.]

She held him firm in her gaze, and for a moment he fears he may falter beneath her scrutiny. Within his chest his heart thrummed wildly, each beat a threat that it may escape the cage that cradled it, and Artyom felt his knees weaken.

The ranger worried quietly, stared at the smooth platinum of his Alphess' fine limbs as she stood before him, gaze rising tentatively to linger on the delicate curve where her jaw met her throat. In that moment, Artyom wished for nothing more to seek her warmth there, to close the gap between them and press his cheek to hers, trace his lips tenderly to the base of a silver lobe. A gesture not to lure her in for his benefit but one to remind her of her value: you are worth more than what you're looking for here.

Dawn deserved to be more than teeth at her nape and awkward fumblings in the snow. She should be held dear, her body treated with the respect of someone who worshipped everything that made her who she was. And it pained him to realise she sought him for the sole reason of some quick jump, when she should have a man who cherished her completely.

Artyom sought her features when at last she spoke to him, and he felt his mouth dry. She spoke boldly, eager to show him that she was certain of her choice, but he noticed the minor details that betrayed her confidence. Dawn seemed sure, but not sure, further solidifying his belief that she'd been driven purely by a hormonal surge to reproduce - not because she wanted to be there.

"I..." he struggled, knowing it was right to reject her, but unable to deny the guilt in do so. Artyom was fond of Dawn and could appreciate their capability - it had certainly crossed his mind in these early days of comradery - and so, he did not wish to hurt of embarass her. A strained whine then, earthen eyes aglimmer with uncertainty; "Dawn, I... I can't."

Not to her. Not to himself.

Not to Ana's memory.