Moonspear So tell me how to do it; tell me how to love like that.

She appeared as if she was the mist that wreathed the mountaintop.

Her question was met with the bob of his head down — to place the flowers at his own feet, carefully, — and then as his eyes traced over her face, he shook his head. There was a moment where Glaukos thought he could lie; that he could say he’d been there and back already, and come up with something concrete to say to her, something which would sound Germanicus-esque or close enough that nobody would doubt. Instead he chose to speak the truth: I did not go back.

In doing so, was he a breaker of vows? No. Nothing had yet been broken. Delayed, maybe — but Glaukos upheld the expectations of Mereo. He had learned well, remembering the punishment stone and the toil he’d had to act out the last time. He knew better; yet, he was here.

His tattered ears pulled back across his head as he realized something in the stillness.

I do not know why I came here. His eyes finally shifted away from her. He was glum again, as if waking from a bad dream and finding himself far from his bed.