Fox's Glade someone only you could want

Silvertongue expanded upon the vague sins Germanicus alluded to, painted a vivid, sickening picture that made her throat close. And still, she listened, intent on every word that came from her mouth, sharp as glass and dipped in honey.
She understood now; the love she held for Crowfeather. Why his rejection stung so harshly. Why she chose the people she did, gave her body for the sake of a picturesque love that lasted only as long as the afterglow of intimacy would allow.
Comfort and expressions of empathy did not come easy for the gamma, but perhaps she didn't need to give any. No pity to be found, only a bleeding heart that swelled and tugged and murmured in the chasm of a broad chest. Not pity, but shared sorrow. Understanding.
And maybe that's what empathy really was.
She solemnly swears in a whisper through gritted teeth that Silvertongue would never go through anything like that again so long as Wren's lungs still sucked in air.
What she didn't say was that she would rip Germanicus's windpipe from his inkblack throat at the swift gesture of her paw, if she asked. Even more silently was her billowing desire to do the same for Crowfeather.
And then, once the waves of despair and trauma had come to a low tide; We're both safe now, though, yeah? Free. We can build a new life. Tighter she clutches that dainty paw, the same way Silvertongue herself had done. You've got me, now.

Two slow dancers.