Duck Lake burning cities and napalm skies

he saw heroism, she saw cowardism. she ought to have come back, and not wandered further then she knew even the furthest-ranging Morningsiders would have travelled. she'd left those that had remained and sought aimlessness in the far north. she did not know, still, if it was death or emptines she'd sought, but either way she'd given up. months had passed in a dull reverie, and she'd eaten only enough so that she may dance on the edge of life. enough time had passed to clot the grief and scar the pain and she'd returned; but too late. 

the huntress listened silently to his words, there sparked the kinship again and the desperate feeling of lonelyness in her predicament lifted, for a moment. his next question was asked with gaze averted, hope in his words yet, she felt, the opposite in his eyes. "no. not even now." she was silent a moment, and then she spoke again. "I left the survivors to their fate. I was supposed to be strong, to hold them together" to be her father's daughter. "I abandoned them, and so much is my fault." she needed to say it allowed, the wrong she'd done, and in this moment she thought she'd found an ear. 

she left barely and room for him to speak, not wanting reply to her words. she needed merely to speak them, admit her sin. "I am sorry, too. for what you've lost." she would not ask how he'd come to be alone; the grief was all too evident. in some twisted way it was good not to be alone in this, however, but this she would not say aloud.