Bramblepoint countless

A small songbird-like laugh escaped her at his question before she offered him a fond smile. It was like a calling. I knew, inside of me, that I was meant to help others. To heal them and make them whole. Because if she could not help herself then she should at least help those around her. Yet to mention such a weakness would surely paint the wrong image of things. She had found such strong guidance under her patron, such strength too!

His actions — his words too, really — sent a shiver down her spine. Some part of her wished to continue, chanted on to push his boundaries as far as he'd let her. Another part cowered in the presence of such strong affections and almost felt unsure of everything as if her own compassion might crumble the mountain of a man before her if she pushed too much. She leaned into him, although her ruby eyes attempted to catch a sidelong glance of his face. Will there be more moments like this? Her words hovered in the air as a whisper between them.

Did he see these moments becoming ritual?