Ouroboros Spine the pulse of our hearts

Agana did not flinch, nor did she draw away. Her touch remained; a gentle twining of paws, steady as the thrum of blood beneath fur; but a subtle tension crept beneath her skin, like frost spreading beneath the surface of still water.
Sakhmet.
The name landed soft, but it echoed. Unspoken things stirred. A pang, sharp and small, tucked itself neatly behind the curl of her smile, hidden where the moonwoman would not see. She would not falter, not here. Not when the woman who meant so much sat so close, eyes filled with fear and trust.
The argent should not feel this way about Kukutux; moonwoman, wife, mother. A life already woven tightly with another's thread. Agana knew this, she had always known. And still, like a moth to silver flame, she could not keep from orbiting her. It was shameful, in some small, hidden part of her soul. To crave closeness that wasn't hers to have. To long for touches that might only be given in friendship, even if they left warmth in her chest that no one else ever had.
So Agana tilted her head just so, as if curious, as if not wounded. As if the syllables of another’s name hadn’t struck some chord in her chest. She smoothed her paw once more against the duck, grounding her in the present. Grounding herself. And when she spoke, her voice was warm, threaded with understanding, not accusation.
„Then tell me.”
A soft invitation, not demand, not interrogation. But her gaze held fast to Kukutux, quietly searching for the shape of this woman, Sakhmet, in her jadestone eyes.
„I want to understand,” is what her silence said. Even if it hurts. Even if your heart has touched another.
For Agana would rather bleed quietly than break the closeness they shared.