Barely taking notice of Miaren, Fern's focus is instead on Adamion's movement.  The predatory stalk of movement sending shivers of anticipatory fear and something else.  Something she has but recently learned of, primal and raw.<br/><br/>The scent of the oils mixing with the pungency of rut grows stronger with his approach.  Chancing a glance through the screening veil of her hair Fern's thoughts grow selfish sending a wave of guilt through her at the errant thought, the feeling of relief that he has instead chosen Miaren.<br/><br/>As his words of command find their way into her consciousness that relief changes to a snap of anger.  Careful to keep her lips sealed, jaws clenching instead, her small fists bound in tight balls upon her thighs.  Rebellion weighing heavy upon her.<em>Do it yer damned self!</em>Fern's mind screams.<br/><br/>Her full lips remaining tight and silent she turns slightly, a trembling angry, pink suffusing her face, eeking its way to the tips of ears rounded in betrayal of human ancestry, Fern's mind reaches out for Miaren.<em>I wont tell you to do it, I wont</em>.  An apologetic hand reaches to touch Miaren's arm as her eyes seek hers in silent commiseration.