Wapun Meadow the smell of home, like sour peaches and linen

Arielle watched him with wary concern. He said nothing for what felt like hours; he only stared at the ground, lost in the turmoil of his mind. Gift from the bear or not, she suddenly wished she could change things. She thought again of how to get rid of them, but her body and heart violently rejected the thought. 

She was startled from her grim thoughts when he suddenly jumped up and laughed. She was quiet, lines of concern deepening in her face with every crazy circle he made. When their eyes finally met, she didn't recognize the man looking at her; he was crazed and angry, not the same Aves who had slept curled up with her that day in the creek, or the one who had called her his Arielle before asking her to carry his last name—not the one had promised she would never be alone again. He was so lost, and she didn't know how to help him. Now she seemed to only be making things worse. Panic gripped her heart; what if he left? She was beyond devastated at just the thought. He had been listing all the ways the bear had let him down, everything the spirit had taken from him; the bruin-heart didn't blame him for questioning his faith. The bear could be cruel. Arielle had seen that for herself, but he knew the cruelty better than anyone. 

So when he screamed: Fuck the bear, she didn't meet the words with anger or persecution. Arielle stood and threw herself forward, into his chest and hid her face there. Unless he pushed her away, she would cling to him in a desperate embrace. She had no idea how to help him through his darkness. All she knew was that she couldn't bear to see the pain in his eyes any longer. I'm sorry, she whispered. She was sorry he had lost everything, sorry he had been dealt such a shitty hand, and sorry that now things would only get more difficult. But she wouldn't allow him to push her away. Not ever.