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

Artyom had already thought of the ways he would express his interest in her, brought them once more to the forefront of his mind as she encouraged that he quicken his intentions. Gilded ears swivelled atop his head as he felt panic rise; this was all too soon, without real preparation.

He would bring her wildflowers in Springtime. One each time, every one different until he could find the bloom that made her light up most. He would find her most beloved plateau and escort her there so they might watch the sunset together. He would do what it takes to make it known just how special she was, so that they both may fall deeply into something indescribable.

It was love he sought, and there friendship was too fresh to know the outcome. Fiercely independent as she appeared, it could easily be that she would not appreciate or accept his little gestures in the way Ana once had.

She was sure, she said. Sure. Something he wished he could be, right then and there, to be exactly who she needed him to be.

But it was all wrong to him. Wrong, wrong, horribly and devastatingly wrong.

Artyom swallowed the lump that swelled in his throat, regarding her concerns of what little time Mother Nature had decided to grant her in order to conceive what she so dreamed. Some tiny, feral part of him burned with an unbridled desire to let go of his fears, to stride forward and embrace her as she wanted. Every other fibre of his being grounded him there, fearful of the aftermath: would she come to regret his warmth when her heat subsided?

"Dawn," he crooned, at last creeping forward tentatively to reach out to her with his muzzle. He pressed his lips to the silk of her sterling brow, gentle and afraid. "I want to know you, too. I... I want to give you all of the things you wish for, but I..." a single peppered kiss, careful and sweet, before he drew back just enough to seek her gaze with his own, "I don't want to disrespect you in doing so."