[ The same feeling of intrusion comes first. Like the prickling sensation of being watched. It's started like that every time, creeping over her body as she usually takes off running. But this time, the wolf beats her to the punch and her heart begins to race as she watches it go.
The prickles become static, heavy, the same weight that had felt almost comforting as she crawled her way across the dry ground to reach the blob. The fact that it felt good had made her keep moving, like triggering an instinct that the only way she would get back was to get close enough to fall.
Her anticipation triggers the Singularity, makes it alert and excited. Like a dog doing a tap dance of excitement at its bowl. Even before the wolf slips back into the tent, her entire body fills lit with whatever liquid warmth it is that's spreading from her into the others, so much that she thinks it very well might begin to stream out of her pores.
The tent flap opens and he says her name, and she doesn't even take him in before she rushes at him, her arms flung open. ]
Geralt. [ He's hurt and she knows it, and she still can't stop herself. Her arms close around him, clutch at his back, in his hair. Her relief is overwhelming, to actually see him; it's like the weeks of strain and fear all crash down around her instead of continuing to loom overhead. Her vision blurs when she kisses him hard, the tears falling as she squeezes her eyes shut. ]
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The prickles become static, heavy, the same weight that had felt almost comforting as she crawled her way across the dry ground to reach the blob. The fact that it felt good had made her keep moving, like triggering an instinct that the only way she would get back was to get close enough to fall.
Her anticipation triggers the Singularity, makes it alert and excited. Like a dog doing a tap dance of excitement at its bowl. Even before the wolf slips back into the tent, her entire body fills lit with whatever liquid warmth it is that's spreading from her into the others, so much that she thinks it very well might begin to stream out of her pores.
The tent flap opens and he says her name, and she doesn't even take him in before she rushes at him, her arms flung open. ]
Geralt. [ He's hurt and she knows it, and she still can't stop herself. Her arms close around him, clutch at his back, in his hair. Her relief is overwhelming, to actually see him; it's like the weeks of strain and fear all crash down around her instead of continuing to loom overhead. Her vision blurs when she kisses him hard, the tears falling as she squeezes her eyes shut. ]