[Normally, Hayame would never believe that she could sleep through the movements that she does that morning. She is accustomed to starting awake at the slightest noise, the faintest hint of movement, immediately ready to attack or go on the defense... But she has never spent the night like this. She has never slept beside someone warm, someone who made her feel... almost something like safe, in a soft mattress and clean sheets.
He is able to extract himself with only a faint bit of resistance, her forelegs twitching as they try to clutch at his thighs, but then he is free of her, and all her limbs curl half-protectively around her own body instead. In her sleep, her brow unfurrowed by the desperation and rage that tended to drive her, her lips unpursed by frustration or attempts to school her expression... She looks much younger.
It isn't until some time after the blinds have been opened that the warmth and the light begins to rouse her. Slowly she begins to stir, her tail flicking, fetlocks flexing, fingers curling in the sheets and pulling them to her chest as she nuzzles into the pillow... and eventually, her eye opens. Where is- ? No, Claude is there, sitting silently on cushions nearby on the floor, doing... Doing something?
In the silence, her cheeks begin to heat, recalling the previous night in vague impressions. What... She does not know what is the proper etiquette, how to behave now that morning has come... and for what seems to be a long time, she just watches him, hoping that something will come to her. Is he... he looks almost like a monk. His breathing is so even, his posture straight... and eventually, for lack of any better idea or inspiration, knowing she must eventually do something...]
... What are you doing?
[Her voice is muffled slightly by the pillow, her remaining eye only barely visible, peeking over the plush edge of it where her face remains half-buried.]
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He is able to extract himself with only a faint bit of resistance, her forelegs twitching as they try to clutch at his thighs, but then he is free of her, and all her limbs curl half-protectively around her own body instead. In her sleep, her brow unfurrowed by the desperation and rage that tended to drive her, her lips unpursed by frustration or attempts to school her expression... She looks much younger.
It isn't until some time after the blinds have been opened that the warmth and the light begins to rouse her. Slowly she begins to stir, her tail flicking, fetlocks flexing, fingers curling in the sheets and pulling them to her chest as she nuzzles into the pillow... and eventually, her eye opens. Where is- ? No, Claude is there, sitting silently on cushions nearby on the floor, doing... Doing something?
In the silence, her cheeks begin to heat, recalling the previous night in vague impressions. What... She does not know what is the proper etiquette, how to behave now that morning has come... and for what seems to be a long time, she just watches him, hoping that something will come to her. Is he... he looks almost like a monk. His breathing is so even, his posture straight... and eventually, for lack of any better idea or inspiration, knowing she must eventually do something...]
... What are you doing?
[Her voice is muffled slightly by the pillow, her remaining eye only barely visible, peeking over the plush edge of it where her face remains half-buried.]