Stavanger Bay I know what they say, I know that they say that no one dies from love

but lestan did not want to leave; his arms trembled as she wept and at last he wrapped them around her, eyes moistening; if he was rebuffed he meant to keep vigil at her side; if she rose and left, he would helplessly follow, at a distance.
something was broken.
suddenly he longed so fiercely for natigvik and the river that his heart felt fit to burst; he did not join her cries, but kept his own stifled, nosing through the fur of her shoulder, pressing as close as reverie would allow as in his ignorance of how he had inflicted a true pain — as that calamitous chasm he had opened between them — as these things kept him from seeing and he only searched, reaching, grasping.