Emberwood [m] Lynchpin

not knowing what to expect but understanding enough about the mechanics of it, praimfaya gives herself over to instinct. the dance, she finds as she is pulled into his embrace is intimate and carnal. unusual, the commander thinks after it is finished, but not terrible. not unlike, she thinks, the high of battle. 

calmed with the settling of her heart rate, praimfaya is pleased to feel that the slow smoldering fire beneath her skin has been quenched. she draws in a deep breath and feels content and ...grateful. she nibbles at her shoulder, smoothing her tongue over a sudden itch that took her there before she studies him again. she is uncertain what is to happen now, though mahler's words come back to her.

this should be where they part ways. it feels a bit impersonal to the commander but, also, she sought partners with no strings attached. mochof. the worheda croons her gratitude in trigedasleng; hoping if she presented herself as a soujona — a mysterious wanderer — that perhaps it might be easier ( of course it does not occur to her that it might have the direct opposite affect ). she shies nearer for a moment to press a parting touch of her nose to his cheek.

and if she is not stopped, not called back by the scar riddled ( handsome, in her eyes ) stranger than she would continue on.