Lake Rodney the hero of our own story

Hydra paused midstride to look over her shoulder and see Wraen struggling toward her. Wraen's request was met firstly with a blink as she spoke it, and then a shift of her weight—and who did Arcturus owe, for all of that, she thought with a flash of anger. Shortlived, as there was another surprise—that Wraen had asked for him to speak with her at all. Not a surprise to hear him refuse her, though; it was always no and I am fine and no further questions with him. 

Now, Hydra knew the truth of that; all lies. And so it was a comfort, somehow, to know of this refusal. 

He was not fine. 

Wraen asked to be told something she herself wished to share with him. To tell Wraen would mean that surely, Wraen would tell him—perhaps then he would not wish to see her. Perhaps then, she truly would never see him again. She ached to think of this, and to know that this might be so. But it would be freeing, too, to know his choice had truly been made. Not one brother buried, then—two. 

She breathed it out in a voice that sought to remain firm, but that wavered for the still-raw wound that she struck to speak of it: Revui, his walking away, again and again, still our brother, even for that, he has died. She turned to face Wraen in full, then, ears pricked forward.