Hideaway Strath One fight AHahah

for sure!

The fae's eyes of seelie silver flinched in confusion as they dropped to the slow crawl of the smile spreading over her mate's lips, not unlike the sun breaking over the horizon with every rise. It was all too easy to become enveloped in the moment, hazy images dancing on the fringes of her mind -- eagerly awaiting the moment that the once-slave loses her tenuous grip on the moment. Waiting for her to shed the skin of Aerin and walk into another she had worn long ago, agent and assassin: Hui. Almost effortless, this subconscious desire to shift into habits old but not dead, to become swept up in the adrenaline and savagery of it all. 

But her mind could not view Vein as an enemy, not even in the throes of hand-to-hand  (paw-to-paw?)  combat. Her features softened at his kiss, eyes falling shut for a moment so that she might gather her thoughts before pulling back with a faint smile of bemusement. The healer bumped her slender muzzle, tattooed with pink scars, against his own fondly. The Saluki's gaze dropped, snowfall lids hiding the warm shine the cleric's praise inspired. Still, a bashful smile hovered on her lips as she kissed his pale cheek with gratitude.

"Ye fought vell, too. I zink ye vould make a fine varrior if'n ye 'ave ze inclination fer it," the midwife suggested lightly. She couldn't recall them ever discussing it before but Vein didn't seem the type to be overly interested in matters of war or fighting -- but maybe the icebear would surprise her by proving her assumptions wrong. 

It didn't occur to Aerin that her lover might have plans at allowing his wounds to bleed freely. The healer in her naturally took over, her diadem of moonlight dipping so she could gently lick the wounds clean -- her form relaxing where it had sprawled over the top of him. Even if someone saw them, it wasn't like the rest of the Sainthood were exactly prudes and they weren't doing anything wrong really.