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

He wasn’t wrong—and in normal circumstances, she would have readily agreed. As if to foster some semblance of acquiescence, the she-wolf slouched closer to the den entrance, allowing the earth to hold her up better, her gaze tracing him with knitted brows. “I’m sure someone will usher me back to bed soon enough,” she noted—the dryness in her throat burning and uncomfortable.

There were many things that went through her mind—he did not visit her. Would not look to her. Felt his sadness and his anger—for as much as Meadow wore her heart upon her sleeve, Reyson had never seemed too keen at hiding his own turmoil of emotions.

Not once had he sat with her, that she could remember between dreams and wakeful fevers, or asked her how she was or what had happened.

And so, her stare bore him down—wondering just what had transpired between the lake and to now. “You’ve kept your distance from me,” she pointed out.

It hurt. Of course it hurt. It would seem this was the price she would pay, and she would need to learn to endure it.