Bearclaw Valley you got melted to butter

He'd asked the wrong question. The wrong words, the wrong meanings, all coming out of his mouth in an unstoppable stream and he can't stop himself, just like you can't unspill a bottle of ink. Evien moves past him and he holds his breath— he touched me— but he quickly kills the thought and buries it deep.
From here, he only sees the back of his head. His tan neck. The image is fuzzy with dark. Maybe I don't know you at all.
To see someone so whole become hollowed out, it was cruel. Just a few days ago he had envied the doctor for his knowledge, his decisiveness, his autonomy. It was cruel. You, he stops himself briefly, but decides to continue. How can you help others if you can't take care of yourself? He sees it now: Evien is just a boy. He might've been a medical student, he might've been a prodigy, he might've come from a poisonous home, but he was just a boy.
He sees it now.