Iselin rests on Aria lightly, and shifts slightly with the slow movement of her breath. Aria is warm beneath her; the touch is casually intimate as she embraces her, keeps her safe through the night. 

And Iselin turns, wheels in wheels, slow and steady, a gentle rhythm like a heartbeat. She knows it is almost time to wake. Soon the pulse of her springs will sound the silver bell in her heart. 

And Iselin lies still and folded, a firm surface beneath her. That self is quiet right now, feeling the firm pressure of leather within it, a reminder of where they left off last night. 

It's a little like being asleep. A slow rhythm of rest.