Duck Lake No one dies from love; guess I'll be the first

perhaps sensing these things, lestan hung back. he only watched her, seeing how truly wild and without reins she was, even the light pressure of his arms. reverie seemed made of air, of ethereal and whorling snow.
but still he did not come close; he was not sure if it was he or she but there seemed to be some new expanse between them. 
his eyes sought her own and asked after regrets for what they had done, for what they were.
against what they might become.