They stood quietly, shoulder to shoulder, each of them processing their own tangled thoughts in the small space between his admission and her reaction. Acknowledging that he cared for Valka was less about making some sort of grand declaration or revelation, but an admission of something that had been slowly but surely growing beneath the surface. In the beginning, he had viewed her as an enemy that was important to keep close, a threat that needed to be watched and monitored to prevent it from destroying everything he held dear. But in those long months spent watching her care for Sǫlvarr from afar had created a sort of yearning in his chest. More than once he had wondered what their relationship might have been like if she had looked at him with the same gentleness that she reserved for their son.

Her teeth startled him, but even in the limited space he had to interpret the meaning behind such an act, he understood that it was less of an attack and more of a statement. Instead of moving away from him, she pressed in closer and he reciprocated, his own dun-rimmed ears disappearing beneath the amber shroud of his mane as he leaned against her grip with a low hiss.

She stole his focus, instantly transporting him back in time to the first time they'd met. He goes back to the day they'd met in battle on the shore of the Bay; and while it is not Fall now, and hormones offer no such distractions, memory serves to spur his desire just as high as it had spiraled then. All too easily the images of her sweat-stained body crushing against his own in the heat of their fight rose in his mind and then bled into what had followed.

He reaches over her shorter figure as he had all those months ago, his own jaw opening to latch onto her crest with the intention of securing his place and his balance. Except, before his teeth clasp against her body, the pinch of her teeth releases and she begins to soothe away the marks she'd left on his skin. As soon as his brain manages to sort through the conflicting scenarios in his mind - the consuming well of desire and the affection he felt transposed against the surprise of it all - he pulls away just as she does the same.

It doesn't occur to him that her reaction could be born of a similar conflict, and he shifts a few tight steps away from her with a harsh snort, blown into the rocky ground. Rare embarrassment floods his face and he attempts to shake off the lingering effects. A long moment passes in which he does not dare look at her, not until his control is firmly back into place and he is reasonably certain he can maintain a level of respectability. She seems to be doing the same, and one ear unpins from the depths of his mane to track her progress.

"Valka," he says, his voice still gravelly with the aftereffects of that singular moment. In truth, he isn't even sure what he wants to say. He is afraid that if he says the wrong thing, she will skitter away from him like a scared rabbit and never return. That if he isn't careful, he will destroy every hard-won inch of progress they've made over the years. One wrong move, wrong word, or wrong motion will send her away from him and they'll never have a chance to explore whatever this was that was blossoming between them.

"It doesn't-" he begins, and then hesitates. It would be so much easier if he could just curl around her again and soothe away the doubts that plague both of them. Touch has always been his language of choice, but he is still unsure of how she will react. Sucking in a breath, he gathers himself and turns to her again. He wants to tell her that he feels the same, that the same spark that made her so distant now was the same that now made his knees weak, but he doesn't have the words to explain it in a way that will allow them both to keep their dignity. Finally, he goes with the second-highest thought in his mind, the one that bothers him the most.

The possibility that she felt as though she needed to give him what she thought he wanted. That it was just her body that he desired, or that all he wanted was what she could offer him physically.

"You don't owe me that." He says finally, and softens his posture to take a step toward her. He searches her face anxiously for any detail that might give away what she was thinking. Even though he knows that Valka has never been one to appreciate his flattery, he's awkward in the wake of what just happened and falls back to old habits. A lopsided grin appears on his lips as he finishes with a shake of his head. "I won't turn it down, but I'm not going to take what you aren't willing to give." Stretching forward, he extends his muzzle for an exchange of breath before speaking again, the words a statement all their own. "I've learned my lesson."

Solomon