Sun Mote Copse A runaway once more

Embry knew he'd made a mistake. This hadn't been within his character at all. He was acting like his father - the exact person he had tried so hard to run from. Frightened by his own actions, he silently vowed to restrain himself. His own heart pounded just for Feyre, poor Feyre, who had once trusted him so deeply. Why would he go and break it like that? Yet, he knew exactly what the problem was. All these years, he had never met something he loved so feircely.

     There were hardly any words that he could say. He tried pacing a step forward, "Feyre..." But her pain was imperious in his gaze. He looked at the ground and grit his teeth, golden form dishevelled and beaten. The wounds from Jhala were beginning to take its toll heavily upon him, added to the tiring array of events erstwhile. He swayed on his paws, unsure what to do; not wanting to collapse and submit the the darkness.

     "That... That wasn't me, Feyre..." His words felt wrong. He should never have had to utter them. They felt slippery and strange, and he immediately felt revolted. His vision was blurred ever so slightly, though whether from the night or his condition, he was not sure. He just wanted to rewind everything.