Morningside Cuesta your ex-lover is dead

AW. Will close after a week with no response.

He had left Alarian once, and left half of his heart behind. He'd never really recovered it, even after reuniting with his brother, living incomplete instead. With this second departure, he'd left the rest of it, too. He was heartless, now--

But hadn't he always been?

Zamael's stomach was tight and hollow as he left the Sanctuary, not daring to look back, even once. If he did, he'd return--and that would do no good. They all needed time to heal, to reassess. Most importantly, Zamael needed to remove himself from his calamitous place at his brother's side. With the poppy-seed incident, he had finally learned his lesson: he was no good for Alarian.

What next? The world was his fucking oyster, as some might say. The silvery male trotted across the cuesta, looking uneasily around. Freedom was usually a treat; now it felt like a chore, compared to his duties back at Broken Boulder. If not a chore, then at least a challenge. This land was vast and empty; there was little chance of finding anything fun to do here.

He slowed to a stop and settled down on his haunches near a small hillock, the late summer breeze ruffling his pelt. Orange eyes more pained than usual scanned the horizon. But all the while, not looking north. Commanding, no, begging himself:

Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back.