Fox's Glade someone only you could want

There were no walls, now, not anymore. Shed were the layers of shame and anguish, of bleak lives that had just begun to grow new roots in new places. Tales of lust and violence and of dangerous men, of stomach-curdling abuse of power and coping mechanisms one can never fully rid themselves of. Of teenage girls who realized their own plights just a bit too late.
Silvertongue reaches for Wren, then, and it felt a little bit like God above had cast a beacon of light upon them, however dim it may have been. Two rhythms of breath in sync for a fleeting moment before they fell out once again. 
What more was there that could possibly be said?
Wren looks at her, really looks, this little riverwoman who came plundering into her life in a series of impulsive decisions and sweat and tumultuous conversations. And yet there were no regrets. None at all. This trembling little figure who had come undone in front of her, who bled raw with wounds the Gamma could only envision the weight of. And yet she understood.
The tangling of palms is met with a ginger press of Wren's lips to the tendons of Silvertongue's paw. She did not speak, she did not even think of getting up to leave.
She would wait for everything until she was ready.