Firefly Glen the grand optimist

He saw her. 

There was something to be said about the power ones first love, if her affections could have been called that, had over them; it was this that kept her rooted, despite knowing what she should do. Dirge had spoken to her that he would not betray her, that he would always come back to her—where was he now? Where had he gone? What kept him beyond what she had tasked him to do; Arcturus had returned, and yet he had not! 

And here was Rian. 

The sound he made was offered with a low rumble of intrigue; he was here now, but why? For her? Certainly not; he had come and go too frequently for Hydra to think he himself had any lingering affections for her. He had answered her affections once, only to—as she saw it—spurn them. He knew where it was ran; where had he gone? Why had he stayed away for so long? Why—

She dashed the thoughts from her mind. Did the answer matter? 

Yes, she weakly answered herself. 

No! the stronger part of her demanded. 

And yet she did not leave, her eyes watchful of him. Even she did not know what she might do; her ears cupped forward, the notched one leaning toward the right—warm breath plumed forth from her nose, looking not at all unlike a draconian smokecloud. He was closer now, but she was still quite still for the time, drinking in the scent of him though not yet leaning forward to close the distance entirely.