Dawnlark Plains why men great 'til they gotta be great?

Her attitude chafed him, in ways that left his mind unsettled. Something about this felt decidedly wrong -- and he looked to her, to find himself met with pale eyes and an unwavering face of stone. He couldn't read her, and he felt heat sting the length of his chest. With his thoughts so fresh on Leta --

His face composed. What was his name and his place to her?

"Stark," he said, brusque and too easy, and he lifted his head as though proud to carry the name -- yet shame dug her nasty claws up the cavity of his throat, but he let her crawl no further. "I have no place," his tongue felt parched, "They are no longer mine."

And he ached with every word -- for this moniker, this history, this was not his own. But how much were they becoming his?