When the bolt flares alight, the wood elf seems genuinely surprised... caught like a fox near the henhouse, in fact, with both her hands outstretched, then suddenly back to her sides.  She clears her throat and sits on the bedroll, a couple blankets-- it was still chilly in the tent, and in the white and glaring light of the glowing bolt, the wood elf's soft chuckle comes out with a little mist of fog.  Fallon grins demurely at the young woman's professionalism and insistence like one might amusedly watch the rapid tumble of children at play, or more appropriately the magician's show that it is... a flurry of distractions, misdirections from what's under their armors rather than how they wear them.<br/><br/>"It feels heavy," she says, her smile growing more languid, her eyes dilating to feral-looking pinpoints, giving her classical features a predatory gleam.  "It feels safe."  Her long, slim hand lays flat upon the young woman's knee, and unless she fights it, begins to creep its way up her thigh like the careful measuring of a tailor.  "I want to feel a little lighter, though, tonight..." her mouth closes the distance as she speaks, her whispered words like feather-brushing wings, "... a little less safe."  Her fingertips hem at the edge of Senna's chain shirt where it blouses at her hips, and her youthful, full lips part and hang open.  She moves to kiss the young woman's neck, tenderly, just below her jaw, and to let her coppery tresses tickle at her cheek.  "You know what that's like, don't you?"