Swiftcurrent Creek pilot

They hadn't met. Reverie was not quite convinced, however; even her name had a familiar ring to it. Bellatrix. That's a pretty name, She commented softly, shyly, a little distracted as she tried to remember just where she'd seen this girl before. It felt as if the answer was lingering on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be discovered. My name is Reverie.
The girl in the reverie —
She drifted closer to take in Bellatrix's scent. Swiftcurrent was wound into her scent, yes, but more than that: she smelled of the wilds, of dreams and starlight and verdant winds through midnight fur. Reverie almost forgot herself, almost begged the girl to dance with her then and there. But she could not dance, not anymore, and besides — dancing with beautiful strangers was a dangerous game. She called Lestan to mind with a fierce insistence, but somehow it did not help. Somehow she only ended up picturing Lestan here, with them, and the three of them —
Reverie blushed and wondered despairingly when and how she had descended into this wickedness which plagued her now.