Moonspear blood makes atonement for one's life

the breath whisked from kukutux at revui's response. the man was so very bold, and she felt herself recoil. not from revui, not from the feral essence of who he was, but from herself. her careworn ways. her utter weakness. 

her body spoke in its perfumed way, and she felt shame's great sweep across her frame. was that why he wished her? no. no — revui saw in the duck something she could never give.

such a wild man needed a fierce wife. kukutux was not that, and lamented that revui should hang his peace upon her. she had wandered long; moonspear had breathed a sense of home into the girl that she had not experienced in many months.

"i —" did he not know of jarilo? of course he did not; it had been so swift and silent; the gentle tread of the gentle brother, hydra's delighted appearance, and then they had been alone and —

but somehow despite all of her pride and dedication, kukutux found the words nipped her mouth like the end of quills.

"jarilo" was all kukutux could manage before she drew away, terrified that she had misled revui, a lingering look resting upon his own features. "i would only tie you here, where you are unhappy," she murmured, desperate for him to undo his want, ears wilting against her skull. "i wish a home. children." to be done with wandering.

why then did her eyes suddenly sting?