Even before she stops Lanfear is shaking, her breath coming in shallow pants. Like the night she’d crept closer to Gavriel, too, desperate for warmth but unable to bear the closeness of another. Get away from me, mongrel. Get away! The dark woman squeezes her eyes shut at this echo of a voice long-silenced, a low whine trapping itself in the bottom of her neck. She doesn’t speak, has never spoken; this sound is the closest she has ever come. And while it’s enough to release a small portion of the conflicting emotions that threaten to undo her— fear and desire, hope and despair— it’s not enough to share their meaning with this stranger. It’s not enough to tell him why she is all but falling to pieces at his feet, and to ask him not to go. Or not to stay. Or to— to—
She doesn’t know what she wants, she doesn’t.
Frustrated and aching, the spotted mare lets her eyes flit open again, and then even the staccato rhythm of her breathing stops. While she’s been fighting within herself, the stallion has… not moved closer, not quite, but he’s reached out to her. He is trying to breach the small distance that’s still left between them, the distance that’s both too little and too much. And Lanfear— she can’t be blamed for shying away, for dancing a single step backwards and baring her teeth. It’s a reflex for her, an instinct that she can’t control. But the moment, at least, passes quickly. The frantic drumming of her heart slows over seconds, and she stands like a snow-dusted boulder before the onyx statue of the male. No longer trembling, though there is still fear peeking through in the white rims of her eyes and the flare of her nostrils. She’s trying, she really is, because a part of her wants that touch too.
Finally, she leans forward, stretching out her body as much as she can while remaining rooted to the ground. Their muzzles are inches away, and she can feel the warm wind of her companion’s breath. Centimeters away, and she can feel the tickle of his whiskers on her own. And then— then they collide in a brush of warm lips and velvet-soft fur. For a second, they touch— actually touch— and then Lanfear jerks away as if she’s been burned, the air pushing itself from her lungs in a soft growl. Or maybe it’s a groan; who can say? The slender black creature has never spoken the same language as everyone else, even with words aside. Her body language is bitter and harsh and repellent by design. It’s a go away sign painted in bright red letters and hung from the base of her arched neck.
It says nothing of her loneliness; only her eyes do.
The white-starred woman retreats a couple more steps, though there is a woodenness to those motions that might indicate how difficult it is to pull away. Lanfear doesn’t want to, but the need of her body outweighs the desire of her heart. She needs to be safe, she needs to know that the black stallion can’t reach out— all too easily— and brush her skin with his electric touch. And here, at least, only three steps away, she can be near him and still hold on to who she is.
