Whitefish River this is how we heal:

Goddamn him!
When his first words of wit returned to her, Aurëwen only simpered elfin up at him, lashes fluttering faux innocent; but then he mellowed once more, remarked on her character, went on length— and it all threatened to unmake her, and the spriteful guise she’d put on play for both their sakes. “Careful, niron,” she murmured  (the first she’s dared to say it in a tongue he understood!)  eyes softened with a tenderness that seeped through her impish façade, anyways. “You haven’t seen how stubborn I may be. Yet.”

And then to her mind came Verx’s comment — praise? no — and the little poltergeist grin returned to her lips once more. “We need to prepare you, soldier. I do not know where you go first, but...” This time, however, it was shadowed by something pensive; the workings of the labyrinth within the mind of her enigmatic self. So her half-sight returned to the quartz cavern at their backs, and when the smile returned yet again, she hummed, “...What if they lurk in Silvertip’s depths?”

For a moment, the silver gave pause; scar-tissuey lips parting wordlessly as she gazed upon Verx a bit listlessly, making herself sure that this would work in his favor. “You need as every bit of a chance you can attain,” came her own words, a bit thick and trodden with thought. Then— “I will hide myself from you, and you will seek me out.” Her lilting, imperfectly-roughened timbre brooked for no argument. 

“Pretend that I am one of them; that I lie in wait, knowing you’ve come after me; knowing you mean to find me at all cost.” Gray eyes silvered and agleam with that stubbornness he so loved to hated, hated to love. But Aure couldn’t afford to let solemnity draw them back from this opportunity — whatever it was. She didn’t know.

Yet Aurëwen knew that she loved the inked male before her; and so she would do what she believed she could not only to support him, but to help coax out the most agreeable outcome to his vengeance, and to ease the anguish of their children altogether.
And she didn’t even realize it, in this moment. 

“I will give you twenty heartbeats, and then you may pursue me,” the herbalist trilled, stepping back back back with easy, languorous steps to the mouth of the cavern. “Or, fifteen beats, if you’re feeling daring, solider,” with another simper; but as she came to a halt before the dim quartz palace, Aure took a try at her beloved’s laid-back, crass drawl: “You... you game, or wh-what?”

Feeling ridiculous for it, and probably sounding as such; but perhaps that was just what they both needed, presently.