Ravensblood Forest we have both lived with lips more scar tissue than skin

’I thought I might be able to change things there. Be a good leader. Turn a new leaf.’ She felt those words as if they’d been sent from his tongue and upon hers — well, in some sense, anyways. The supposed nomads of Diaspora were a fine fettle of wolves, and she’d known, at least, that even if she had secured the mountain lake, they’d be more than reluctant in following one such leader as sentimental as her. Entranced by her own musing, she failed to note the sliver of pride in Verx’s fevered gaze. ...But, perhaps, maybe someday, somewhere, somehow, they could be just the leaders they wished to be.

Feeling him go rigid, then, drew her out of her moseying thoughts, and Aure continued to listen as he spoke to her blind side, sifted through her gathering of greens... and then came pause, with only her warrior’s retching, her own paralysis, and the unstoppered flow of blood from the trees to fill the bated quiet. A child. A babe. There was nothing she could say to such an evil act; vengeance was one thing, which Caiaphas most certainly had in spades, but this... this...

He needed something to dissuade his train of thought, even if only for a little while; even if it was ridiculous of her. So... without voicing his turmoil  (without letting this horrendous information disturb her further)  the silver let her voice drop into what she believed was reminiscent of his own:

“You are burning up, and not in a good way,” she trilled leisurely, echoing his own words from moons and moons ago. “I need you to get on your belly,” trying and failing to hide the little foxline smirk as she turned back to him with a lift of her chin. They could return to speaking of serious matters soon, after he followed her faux-command. 

Aure stept around him, pressing the cool pink of her nose to his chin — unable to resist a kitten-lick there, as her restraint was paltry. “Ai souda huk op yu moun tagon,” she sighed, voice once again her own lulling timbre. “You’re so warm...”

If her words impressed him as sensual, she didn’t realize it — or maybe, she did, with how she hastened to settle down alongside him, flustered. But even this moment was reminiscent of them: though she braced her twiggy weight against the pulsing heat of his broad back, the herbalist couldn’t quite meet his eyes all of a sudden. So warm. Warm, like the flame he’d kissed to her throat the day he’d returned to their family.

Fuck. Fuck fuck.
She’d fallen right into her own snare that she didn’t even know she’d set.

He’s sick. Fever. You can’t be serious right now, you need to stay focu—
Aure stared ahead, and would’ve been the poster-girl for resolve if her voice didn’t do what it did next: “Wh-whenever you are ready. I am, ah, here.” She sure as hell was tense enough to bear his rise now.