Aleksandra had already jumped away, embarrassed to be seen so close to Aulfr like that. Aulfr seemed concerned about it as well. She cleared her throat and brushed hair hair from her eyes. She wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind. She also wanted to kiss him again. And again. It was somewhat disconcerting how she could go from fearing advances from any man to wanting to kiss one all day. It was something she'd been starved for. So rarely did she touch anyone kindly, she realized. And so rarely did anyone touch her. Not unless she was fighting or being healed.

She moved around Aulfr as she contemplated all of this, and set the breakfast tray on the table. She took a seat in her sewing chair and snatched up her mug of coffee first. She drowned it in cream and sugar as she always did, until it hardly tasted like coffee at all. Then she settled in to eat, staring at Aulfr unabashedly throughout the meal. She was trying to figure out exactly why she felt the way she did about him.

Was it his looks? It couldn't just be that, though he was quite... pretty. For a man. His hair was brown and wavy and soft like rabbit fur. His eyes were dark and usually void of emotion, but she loved the way they lit up when they sparred, and the confusion in them each morning when he woke up wrapped around her. His lips... They were surprisingly soft for such a hard man. And warm. And not something she would linger on, not at all. He had nice hands. Long-fingered, strong, callused. She wanted to hold his hand for awhile. Maybe she'd try that later.

Soon, their meal was over and she was fetching a pair of scissors from her satchel. She found she was sort of excited to trim his hair for him. She wasn't always keen on acting like a woman, but some hidden maternal instinct in her wanted to care for him, to keep him safe and help him succeed. He needed a woman's touch, she believed. And trimming his hair was a wonderful place to start.

She had him sit in the wooden chair at the desk next to the wardrobe. "I won't cut much. Just enough that it won't always be in your face," she assured him. Then she began snipping, combing through his hair with gentle fingers. She was fighting the urge to hum, but she felt so light, so bubbly. She gave in and started humming a quiet Noxan lullaby that, as a storyteller, she liked to sing in taverns at the end of the night. It was a very old song, something she didn't remember learning, since it was about wandering the earth and learning about fantastic creatures. Most Noxan songs in recent memory were about war.