Swiftcurrent Creek If you're not made for me, why did we fall in love?

She had left Arric and was seeking @Lestan, finally, when she heard the howl. It froze her in place. He was leaving —
And she knew that it was her fault. Because she could not trust him; because she was not normal and never would be, and all anyone seemed to think of her was that she needed help. Protection. Could she really blame him for believing the same, for feeling hurt when she did not let him provide it?
The truth was that no one could help her, and she did not want their help. What she had wanted from Lestan was his love, something he had promised her so many times. But he had left.
She did not think he meant to return; even if he did, certainly it would be with words to bring about the end of them, the end of their love. Why else would he leave her when their future was brewing inside of her, in blood and pain and so much misery? My future, she corrected herself a little numbly, and that thought made her so dizzy that she had to sit down for a moment.
Her eyes were strangely dry.
Reverie only sat with that thought for a long while. Eventually she started to remember all of the promises he had made; she remembered you can't lose me and I'm yours, she remembered of course I want you to stay and I am not going anywhere. Promises she had never trusted, because she had always known that in the end it would be too much for him.
She had tried to warn him, tried to halt their progress before it could turn into heartbreak. She had felt the sweet danger in his touch, that day by the lake, and she had known that she ought to turn back.
But was it really so wrong of her to want him? A man who was gentle and emotional in ways she hadn't known were possible for men; a man who wanted to make those promises, even if he didn't keep them. But it was more than that. He was the kind of person who loved beautiful things and impossible ideas, the kind of person who noticed orange trees and named prey, the kind who enjoyed singing and dancing and art. Someone like her.
Reverie found herself tracing a numb path through the Creek, to where she and Lestan had made their own space. She settled there. Finally she started to cry; quiet tears, gentle tears. It was so tempting to run after him, to beg him to stay, but she knew that it was not what was best for him. He would be happier with someone else, and surely he would find that. Anyone, she thought, would want him. And — she had the Creek, at least. She had her friends. Nothing would ever soothe this hurt, but...
She would manage.
She always had.