The dryad squirms at the touch of Naiobe's fingers upon her sore flesh.  Each piece of food is taken from the woman's hand delicately, a soft brush of lips upon her fingers.  The spirit woman is smart enough to leave her own hands folded demurely in her lap, not interfering with either the caress of her bruised skin or the feeding.<br/><br/>"Yes," she answered softly, "I was afraid."  Meeting Naiobe's eyes she ran her tongue over her lip, clearing a droplet of the clear sap that welled up from one of the rose thorn cuts.  "And now I am even more afraid, knowing that I am helpless to protect myself or my tree from you."