She is not a very forward speaking woman when it was regarding the matters of the heart - and she hadn’t spent enough time with him to know if he’d find her frivolous to have been taken in by him with so little effort. He seems to have thoughts along the same river as her own, paddling two boats in the same coursing waters as they come to the break of the rapids. She does not think herself invisible, so there has been no small amount of care taken to look appealing - but self-care and care-to-impress might in fact be quite different to a stallion… or at least easily misread.
He takes glee from her surprise when they enter the cave, at least, and she nods in response to his question with a gentle hum in agreement. She rests there, head against his hip, basking and reveling until the breath of the cave brought with it the all-consuming scent of ‘Male’ and she remembers just how shy she is after having taken such liberties as she had done a moment before. She looks about, trying not to seem so lovesick as she believes herself to have looked, so sure that she is ‘too old’ to be a young filly finding her first courtier in her first heat.
He is strong. He is virile. He is caring. He has promised her protection. He is… clearly not going to make it easy on the poor introverted mare. His sheepish smirk and reply drags her eyes to him as he asks what it was that she truly hoped by inviting his company. His eyes are expectant, attention laid heavily across her metaphorical back. She wants to find some elegant phrasing, but what she manages to do is take a gods-awful long time to stammer a little and then flick her ears in opposing directions in abashed shame. "I never learned how to woo a stallion, I don’t know what pretty innuendos would imply my interest, nor if that implication of my interest would be merely flattering or inciting."
Her one ear pricks, but the other turns directly back, uncomfortable and awkward, but some of that youthful hope that cruel opinions had driven nigh out of her creeps back into her eyes again. "You are handsome, have a gentle hand with children, bear a kind heart, and I had hoped to be of enough womanly persuasion that you might take a liking to me as more than simple nursemaid to our boys… some respectable contracted partner in parenthood." Her voice turns wistful, sharing the old, battered, jaded romantic that hid beneath that too-serious exterior.
"I had thought your eye had been turned once or twice, but I am not so clever in footwork like the mares that dance in the dunes this season - and certainly have little enough poetry when I speak…." She stops, noticing the shy stammering tone of her voice at last. "Ugh," she mutters as if to herself, "good on you, Berit. Talk the man into a stupor..."