Noctisardor Bypass life is about creating yourself.

He is silent so long she fears she’s bored him- or otherwise he’s caught onto her wicked scheme. But when she looks over he’s unreadable, a lambent gaze that foretells nothing, until finally resuming with a half-smile.

“Family’s hard,” is her simple reply, if only it were so plain too to navigate. She didn’t know Fig’s experience, and as much as she wishes to pry, she gets the feeling he’d rather not analyze it in this moment. So she is quick to answer the question that follows.

“Pretty well. Hey, I used your technique the other day. Imagined I was a bunny- worked wonders,” a nervous smile flashed. In truth, not everything was peachy for her in Kvarsheim either, but she doesn’t want to mull over the problems that awaited her upon return. She wants to consume the beauty of Fig as he settles down before her, and for the first time she can see him clearly: rangy and shadowed- the kind of wolf you’d be  foolish to cross. But there is something soft in his face, a boyishness he hadn’t quite outgrown  or maybe she sees it only because, even if they were strangers, she knew him to be funny and kind. And her therapist.

Into the mead she sinks, staying close, almost touching, so he might feel the draft of her breath on his neck. She’s out of her  depth and the boldness of such a move, however small, quickens her heartbeat. She recalls the alluring Riverclan woman with the sway in her step  and how all eyes were moored to her, and so lays down in what she believes is a similarly pleasing way, crossing her paws just so, allowing her tail to spill behind her, pretending to be casual even as the rush of blood in her ears was deafening, and couldn’t he hear it too?

She’s always been rather tactless, and there was no exception here. So before she has the greater sense to backpedal, or jump up and flee, or apologize- she meets his eyes with her own.

“You got a girl waiting for you back in Moonspear, Fig?”