Northstar Vale I don't wanna hate you, kills me that I have too

Had the silver Heiros knew what awaited her outside the den—the myriad of his emotions, the dark belief and assumptions in his mind—she might have wisely stayed within the confined walls of the healing den, holding off on what perhaps would very well be the end of a winding chapter.

Still, she had played a good patient for awhile now, and the air within was stifling. She could hear him, just outside the den—as still as a statue, still unable to look at her—and yet somehow, still here.

She could only surmise he waited to finally talk to her.

And this wasn’t a conversation that should be put off any longer. So, with the smallest scrap of energy she held for the moment, Meadow shed the proverbial tubes that one had in a hospital bed and stood upon shaky legs, a brief hiss of pain eliciting from her before she began the treacherously slow walk to the entrance.

There was no sun that greeted her—grey skies roiled above, but it was the defeated form of the large man on the ground that drew her gaze. “Reyson,” she spoke in a hush, eyes skimming up only to ensure Tamar or Antigone were not around to usher her back upon her sick bed just yet.