Morgan's breath caught in her chest, unable to believe her ears. Had she misread Vihma so badly? She'd been sure that the weasel didn't see her as anything more than a friend, a sister even, but...
Morgan quietly paced to one of the crenellations and sat herself down in them, resting her elbows on the stone struts. "Y'know," she said quietly, "when I was on that operatin' table, strugglin' t' breathe, drownin' in m' own blood, I was thinkin' 'bout givin' up. Jus' lettin' it end. I figger'd Mum an' Mother woul' be sad, but 'ey'd get a flag an' a medal, an' those at leas' can't disappoint 'em like I do. The crew'd ferget me quick enough. Th' only one I couldn' bear t' leave was you."
She looked up at Vihma, tears in her eyes. "I really like ya, Vim," she confessed. "I think yer smart, yer pretty, and yer good. Yer a good beast through an' through, nah in spite a' what ye been through, but 'cuz ye chose t' be good even after all a' it. When I'm wiv' ya, I feel more alive, more... more me 'n I 'ave m' 'ole life. Around ye, I don' spend every momen' hatin' m'self anymore."
She took a deep breath before admitting, "I know I'm a lot, even on a good day, an' I wouldn' blame ye if ye wan'ed t' jes' keep thin's as 'ey are. But, if ye don', well..." She got up and, approaching Vihma, offered her paws, hope in her eyes. "...'En I'd really like t' try wiv' ya."