Ariadne has gotten fairly proficient at avoiding his projections, and has learned to be more subdued while building in dreams that aren't her own. It draws less attention to her, and a smidgen of pride wells in him that she seems to have outfoxed him for the time being. Or, at least, he'd like to believe it's her skill rather than his willingness to share his headspace with her that's caused his defenses to slacken.
(he will lie awake later, wondering if loving Mal had done the same to Cobb)
For now, though, he appraises how she's reined herself in, keeping her creations subtle and careful while she gallivants around in someone else's head. The breeze, the way it winds around their bodies, dances through the wisps trailing from the edges of the clouds overhead and catches the flag she's replaced with the same paiseley print as her scarf...it's marvelous. The birds need work, though-no pigeon in a city is that skittish-and she notices just a minute too late that it's made him narrow his eyes.
(he will push her farther tomorrow; be more careful, you can never be to careful)
"I'll fix it next time, then," she says, scanning his face for a yea or nay answer. "Maybe seagulls at a beach or something."
(he will have a difficult time scrutinizing the dream rather than the bows cinching her bikini to her hips)
