Dragoncrest Cliffs i give myself v good advice but v seldom follow it (sits on a rock & cries)

To hear him say everything that her mind, her heart knew to be true about them — it numbed her, and reinforced the situation, the reality of whatever They were. She flit from him, but did not cower nor bristle; whirled to him as he stormed from their retreat, wishing to forge something of her tongue to make him halt. But he tore away away away, and whatever prowess that kept her standing went with it. Rendered speechless and nearly void, the least she could do was to crumple down into a wilting sit.

There were two meanings of mate that she, so self-loathingly, had never made known to him — in this instance, she’d meant it from the outlook of responsibility. In a way, through raising these children, through their creation, they had claimed another; rearing them together was only natural. It was this cause in that they were ‘mated.’ But, all truths considered... she was a terrible speaker. And she was still a moon-eyed, deluded brana, wasn’t she?

With the death of Drageda’s heda, Vercingetorix had his limits strained. And in her inconsiderate manner, her fault, she had only pushed him further; and now they were both hurting more than they’d been before this. Yes, he would raise them. But... but loving her, that was something that felt rather mythical, now more than ever.

Yet, chekas didn’t cry. Wouldn’t that apply to those who bore their children? Tears of her own making wavered at the frames of dark lashes, but she could not let them fall. For then, she would not cry. She carried a cheka’s whelps, after all — and still had yet to name them, didn’t she?

— Dragomir —

The name arrived at the edges of her frayed mind ; the same moment her shivering lips tasted salt.

To whom peace is precious.