Firefly Glen but when i go to sleep at night, don't you call my name

"you do know. you do have somewhere to go. anywhere. you are not stuck here." she responded sharply, insisting upon him some semblance of mental acuity. he had brought himself to this glade, and he could take himself out of it just as well. she glanced at the sickle of the white gouache moon, then looked towards the east.

where are you going? in the crepuscle her eyes glinted as they grasped for the shadows, gleaned yearning, ellipsed between inchoate panic and tightly wound self-control. "elsewhere." esme said, pithy and vague. "away." she added, just as before.

slip of marigold glimpsed him. "leave this place. it is corroding your brain." she husked, turning away again to insinuate her intention to move along.

what did he want from her? he was a catspaw raking hot chestnuts out of a bed of coals, then imploring ubiety from the monkey who bade him do so? a moral quagmire sucked her into tiresome thoughts.

i don't have nowhere to go, words rebounded in her mind, once delivered from her own tongue to a stranger who saw only a vassal in her.

riley was mere a scruffy colt, and esmé was satisfied that's all she saw in him. 

a final time, she pitched her gaze to meet his own: twain lakes of magma coalescing, smoldering, and then, without another word, the woman deftly loped into the upsloping, northeast forest.