[ The warm, burning sensation to her was foreign, once, a novelty to a girl who had spent decades with nothing but her own mind and the speech of animals to guide her; the fondness, the warmth, the way that she feels almost tender standing before him. The urge to reach out and touch him, to press her palm against his skin and feel the warmth of his body is painfully overwhelming, but she resists, forcing herself to focus on other things.

Astarion gives her his companionship and comfort already. She cannot, will not, demand more of him, not without fair and equal trade.

Carefully, she follows him through the bathroom, through to the other room, open and pristine, as if the staff had just ventured inside to cleanse it of anyone having lived there. Leaning forward, she drinks it in, confused by the offer, before she realises it for what it is: we will have to protect each other. This is, perhaps, his way of doing so; offering her kindness when she seeks his comfort, without forcing her to voice it aloud, without demanding that she use words that come to her so unnaturally.

Lauralae does not quite smile, but her mouth turns, just a little, so it seems like it could be one - or that it might be a trick of the light. ]

There were spells I could use once, to create safe spaces to rest. I would cast it at night in the forests, to ensure that no creatures came to find me and steal my life.

[ Though, really, she was often the most dangerous creature in her forests, the hissing rumour of witch and demon keeping most common folk at bay. ]

This offers the same safety, I think.

[ Slowly, she makes her way over to the bed, fingers pressed along the fabric, before her gaze returns to Astarion. ]

Shall we make a tent?