Blackwater Islands Pure intention juxtaposed

Faint whispers were all he heard at first. The listener was pulled forward by some unseen force as it glued Tulok's paws to the moss and stone beneath his pads. He wasn't alarmed, though, as he might have expected. He felt something click into place—something he hadn't even realized he was waiting for. He could hardly even put the feeling into words. 

Her words sounded like they were created by the whispers still caressing his ears. He had known something more had brought him here and kept him loyal to the prophet and the druids. He was grateful she had chosen him. 

It was then that he felt the soft touch on his face. The demon's eyes closed. Touch was not something he often allowed, but with the listener there didn't seem to be the usual lump of discomfort in his gut. Her touch only made things seem more balanced within him.

And I am yours as your are mine. His eyes opened then; his gaze was typically cold and calculating but neither of those could be seen now. Only reverence. He felt changed somehow. Tulok leaned forward to touch his forehead to hers. He could find no words, but he knew they weren't needed.