Hoshor Plains hold my hand

Poor sweet Diane! But I understand entirely~ It's been lovely threading with you anyway! <3 I'll archive this here, as Novak's account is inactive. Thank you, both. :)

What happened then was almost like a fever dream. He was reminded forcibly of when he himself had been dying, frozen by the seaside, before Kyron had come along to save the day. Goldhawk's head had been full of weight and delusion, and of course a prevailing darkness, and he felt all that intensely now as he watched Diane and then became part of her final moments. The broken girl fled, and the bard, startled, ignored the other male completely and moved swiftly after her.

He didn't call out to her because he got an odd (and, again, feverish) impression that she wouldn't hear him. Something had happened to the frightened beauty, and it wasn't just physical. Although Goldhawk was long-legged and strong, and Diane was hurt and limping, she seemed to be pushed by a kind of intense adrenaline and what could be death-defying fear, and so she outran him with surprising ease. He caught up to her just as she fell. It seemed to happen in slow motion: the warrior gasped and reached out with his jaws to grab her, and his teeth grazed the scruff of her neck by a hair's breadth... and then she fell away with the world.

It would take him a while to properly remember what happened next. He ran (he must have) to try and save her, brown eyes flashing desperately in an attempt to keep sight of her. Survival instinct kept him from plunging himself into the water after her, and it was a while before he gave up. He did, though: he gave up. The dream was gone, vanished, swallowed by the water and her own turmoil, and his heart pounded with pain. But he didn't feel loss: he'd never had her. He'd only dreamt her.

Goldhawk sat there alone for a very long time.