Elle was unmoved by his reaction. She was surprised at her own lack of defense, though she hid it well. Truly, she thought, I must believe that he will not hurt me. She kept his eyes fixed on his face, devoid of any response to his defenses, hand motionless and outstretched.<br/><br/>"If you were to cut it off," she said, nodding to her hand, "then you would have regretted it more than I, I think. You are too kind for your own good in this sort of work."<br/><br/>She dropped the subject, her fingertips brushing lightly over the feathers with strangely gentle motions, like she was running them through a loved one's hair. The feathers were silky under her touch and she sank her fingers into the softness, feeling where the quills met flesh. She did not realize that she had a small, wistful smile in the corners of her mouth, or that her face had grown soft. She simply touched the phenomenon of his wings and thought of little else. There might have been a hint of some innocence long passed away as she combed her fingers through the white slowly.