Reprieve?  Or is it?  His commands given in slicing tones refuse to be disobeyed. An apologetic grimace and she slides her hand over to the mound of Miaren's sex, gently petting as one would stroke the soft hair between a dogs ears.  She tries to convince herself that is all she is doing though the scent of arousal carried to her makes the fallacy difficult, near impossible to maintain.<br/><br/>"Shhh.. its ok..shhh.. just.. we're ok.. really.. we're not dead.  That's good.. right?  We're ok. Shhhh.."<br/>Through panicked and quivering slightly, Fern's glibness of tongue might again work in her favor.  "shh.. shhh shhhh".  She pets her slowly, her monologue pitched low and hopefully comforting.<br/><br/>The snarl from Adamion diametrically opposed to the honeyed response from Fern to Miaren.  His hands hardly ones intended to sooth, instead brought shivers over her skin as they continued to stroke, adjusting her skin to his touch much as one would teach a horse to accept a man's touch, gentling but not gentle, more domineering, not to be disobeyed.