[It seemed... She did need to pull her robe back on after all.
He untangles from her body, and she can't help the way her forelegs initially curl, how her fingers instinctively reach as if to stop him... But that was the body. The mind knows to let him go, the heart says she should let him go, and she pulls back herself after only that brief moment of betrayal, tucking her long legs in tight to her belly to pave the way for him to leave her bed and the mess left behind, milk pale on her breasts and seed pale beneath her tail, still twitching and half-up as if it hasn't caught up to the realization that things had taken a turn for the somber.
Unlike Nikolai... Konoha has never been particularly good at hiding what she was feeling. Her tendency towards honesty is not just a choice, but almost a necessity. Even when she wished to hide something, like now, when she attempts to downplay the disappointment she feels, the cold reminder of the fact that when it came to this... she was alone in this place. The only man in the world who loved her above others, who would choose her and gladly stay the night in her arms... He wasn't in this world. She tries, but she can't.
Later, she will rebuke herself for acting so immaturely, and she will regret it... But she doesn't absolve him. She should and she knows it, but she can't bring herself to say that it was alright, that he didn't need to be sorry, that it wasn't unfair... Not when she'd been so glad for the promise of a lover that, while temporary, would still spend some time with her, warm and hazy and uninterrupted by the harsher truths that awaited outside the circle of comforting arms, enough attention to settle her heat and the insatiable discomfort it brought. She had hoped to curl up next to him, stroking his hair in between sewing buttons she lazily reattached to the shirt she had damaged in her haste to touch, but instead...]
... There's a place for washing up out back. Go ahead and use that, no one will see you.
[It's a tiled area, a stool, and a handful of simple products next to a hose behind the barn, but designed for jinba as it was, it would still do well enough. Avoiding his eyes as if she could hide her disappointment, she shakily pulls herself more upright, gathering her discarded kimono and slowly shrugging back into it, heedless of staining, not bothering to pull her sweat-damp hair out from the collar or belt it properly. Next, she reaches to grab a basket from the edge of the hay and reed pile to drag it closer, searching through several half-finished sewing projects (a men's kimono, a child-sized cloak, an apron) she worked on in idle moments before sleeping for needle and thread.
Pauses... to wipe her hands on a dry part of her kimono before she resumes searching.]
Just leave your shirt here... I'll have buttons back on by the time you finish cleaning up.
[Though she'd planned on doing them so much more leisurely... She was a fast sewer. She'd get it done so he could leave with his modesty intact. So that when he went back to Alina, he would be able to use words first and not simply be seen and have his transgression known.]
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He untangles from her body, and she can't help the way her forelegs initially curl, how her fingers instinctively reach as if to stop him... But that was the body. The mind knows to let him go, the heart says she should let him go, and she pulls back herself after only that brief moment of betrayal, tucking her long legs in tight to her belly to pave the way for him to leave her bed and the mess left behind, milk pale on her breasts and seed pale beneath her tail, still twitching and half-up as if it hasn't caught up to the realization that things had taken a turn for the somber.
Unlike Nikolai... Konoha has never been particularly good at hiding what she was feeling. Her tendency towards honesty is not just a choice, but almost a necessity. Even when she wished to hide something, like now, when she attempts to downplay the disappointment she feels, the cold reminder of the fact that when it came to this... she was alone in this place. The only man in the world who loved her above others, who would choose her and gladly stay the night in her arms... He wasn't in this world. She tries, but she can't.
Later, she will rebuke herself for acting so immaturely, and she will regret it... But she doesn't absolve him. She should and she knows it, but she can't bring herself to say that it was alright, that he didn't need to be sorry, that it wasn't unfair... Not when she'd been so glad for the promise of a lover that, while temporary, would still spend some time with her, warm and hazy and uninterrupted by the harsher truths that awaited outside the circle of comforting arms, enough attention to settle her heat and the insatiable discomfort it brought. She had hoped to curl up next to him, stroking his hair in between sewing buttons she lazily reattached to the shirt she had damaged in her haste to touch, but instead...]
... There's a place for washing up out back. Go ahead and use that, no one will see you.
[It's a tiled area, a stool, and a handful of simple products next to a hose behind the barn, but designed for jinba as it was, it would still do well enough. Avoiding his eyes as if she could hide her disappointment, she shakily pulls herself more upright, gathering her discarded kimono and slowly shrugging back into it, heedless of staining, not bothering to pull her sweat-damp hair out from the collar or belt it properly. Next, she reaches to grab a basket from the edge of the hay and reed pile to drag it closer, searching through several half-finished sewing projects (a men's kimono, a child-sized cloak, an apron) she worked on in idle moments before sleeping for needle and thread.
Pauses... to wipe her hands on a dry part of her kimono before she resumes searching.]
Just leave your shirt here... I'll have buttons back on by the time you finish cleaning up.
[Though she'd planned on doing them so much more leisurely... She was a fast sewer. She'd get it done so he could leave with his modesty intact. So that when he went back to Alina, he would be able to use words first and not simply be seen and have his transgression known.]