“Because I love to look into them, to see the real you. They’re beautiful.” She didn’t remove the covers, and he exhaled heavily in disappointment. And then she felt it. The tiny ball of iron in his heart opened up once again, unravelling like a blooming flower and the trickle of glowing warmth pouring forth from it, as gentle as a stream running over smooth rock. Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden, welcome proximity of emotion, willingly given. It was tempting, for the taste was the familiar coppery tinge she had gotten used to from him. The accent of his emotions, confusion, a hint of joy, comfort, fear, it didn’t stop. He revealed more and more of himself until he was as open to her as any other pony would have been. Regret, hesitation, passion, an inkling of lust… admiration? She didn’t dare feed, fearing a trap. Whatever he said to her now, she would be able to tell if he was lying or telling the truth.