Broken Boulder she's got silver bullets on her tongue

Had he known her thoughts, he might have turned tail and left her then. The same sentiment had run itself through his mind over and over; he deserved this, he knew he deserved it, and so did everyone else. He had deserved worse. He had deserved to die.
He wished he had.
You don't have to apologize, He said after a stretch of silence, tired and defeated and unable to look at her now. I deserved it. Something urged him to say more, to explain, to give her some reason to hate him a little less. But he deserved to be hated. And at this point, he didn't have the energy to fight it. Some part of him almost craved her ire rather than this apology— it was far easier.

Yet he could not bring his own apology forth. He fell silent again, until finally a thought bubbled from him. You don't need to worry about pack relations. My own feelings will always be separate.