Her side was snug against his. Of course, it was not the closest she'd ever been to someone. But it was the closest she'd ever been to him. And from either side of light summer fabrics she could feel the telltale signs of life: body heat and the occasional twitch of muscle. It was visceral and she flushed again to imagine he felt much the same from her. Her fingers crushed and creased in the furs. Her knees drew up against her chest.

"The bed," she whispered. "If you cannot poof, can you chop?" A fire would not be a perfect solution -- but there was something enticing about sitting out before the flames with her head tucked easily on his shoulder. Something about the intersection of necessity and choice that appealed to her.