[ Slighted, the owlbear sadly (but not really) plods away in search of more attention elsewhere, determined to cycle back to Astarion now that it knows that Astarion is willing to be gentle when he's so inclined. A little like Iorveth, in that sense: now that Iorveth is convinced that Astarion isn't being sweet for the sake of the inevitable rugpull, Iorveth can approach him without needing to constantly hold a symbolic knife to his throat.

A long day. Iorveth stretches his limbs, working out tension before he lets himself become horizontal on the bed next to Astarion, sideways to Astarion's supine. ]

The creatures of the forest weep at their exclusion.

[ Dry, amused. ]

In turn, you're the only undead creature I care to sleep next to.

[ Sorry, Petras. ]