Jade Fern Grove Seems you cannot be replaced, and I'm the one who will stay

lestan mayfair felt that he had learned several things about reverie in the silent hours that followed their departure from the creek.
the first was that she was a fey creature, ethereal and almost doelike. she moved with an unconscious grace, even though her step was unfocused. and during the times she turned to look at him, lestan had looked back with a quiet solemnity.
but she had not spoken, moving in a haze of that which was unseen and unsaid.
the second was that she was older than he had thought. they were well-matched in height, but the easy tone of his muscles and her absence of anything besides a willow-stem slimness made reverie seem smaller. younger.
it was in those moments where her eyes were on him and the words did not come that lestan realized for how much longer she had lived with this malady, and that her suffering might be gentler than others, but it still felt as though she were imprisoned sometimes in her own mind, her own skin.
the third was that the mayfair was smitten. it was natural to him, to fall helplessly in love every moment he lived upon this earth. but this — it connected to the glen, to donnelaith, to the unwolf things which had danced and sung in a glade of their own making.
he smiled when she at last spoke. "you'd make a fine rogue. what's a raindancer?" but then lestan shook his head at her apology. "maybe you remember the best parts, reverie. we've been walking a while." he looked around at the frosted trees. "are you hungry?"