Fox's Glade someone only you could want

A touch, two noses pressed together. Wren's eyes squeeze shut, just long enough so that when they open, the tears roll in beads down to her chin and it confirms that Silvertongue is still here. She did not run, did not look at her in horror, did not scream.
And nor did Wren.
So foreign, so new, this tender silence between them. The emotions roll in tidal waves, so much of everything that she almost wondered if it was nothing. Every instinct tells her to flinch, to raise her hackles and then her paws, to beg Silvertongue to admit that she is lying. It does not make sense for her to still be here. She will grow tired of this, she will turn the other cheek once the truth sets in. The beast known as Wren is nothing more than a vessel, a catalyst; a creature of destruction, both of herself and others and everything she loves.
But maybe that is what Silvertongue thinks of herself. Maybe that is why they are both still here.
A long, lonesome foreleg snakes up and over the smaller's slender shoulder. Stay with me tonight, not a question nor a command. I-I don't wanna leave you alone.