Stavanger Bay What I know tomorrow, I'm learnin' today

WOW SORRY <3

what bridget offered was a listening ear. lestan wiped his wet face and sniffled a bit, settling his haunches in the sand. "she says she's f-fallen out of love with me. or, is falling," lestan amended in a voice that was low and crisp with shame. "but she says s-she wants to k-keep working on us."
said aloud, lestan tasted the dejection in his own mouth and drew a long sharp breath. "i t-told her not to l-live for me, but for blossom, and i-i've devasted her. again." again, again, again. his eyes were hard upon the foamy curves of saltwater lapping along the beach.
"s-she said it's how s-she loves. she is s-so hurt."
lestan's face contorted; he bit the inside of his jaw to keep from weeping again. "she says she j-just keeps forgiving me f-for things, questions why else s-she would come back."
finally then he did crumple, burying his face in his paws. "i've seen her almost die so many times!" came his mournful muffled sobbing, and then the entire story came out in halting bits and pieces: their immediate infatuation with one another, the brief moment where they had come together and his unknowingness that it would begin a child —! then! 
her pregnancy, how he woke over and over to her screaming, her weeping, her bleeding; the talk of brothers and otherwordly glens and golden deer and witch curses; how he had not been there for blossom's birth, how the sight of more blood had caused him to run out, out, and almost die with fever.
how they had left their home after being forced into kinship with a healer who terrified reverie further with his medicines, how lestan too had taken the guilt into himself, the deep self-loathing that he had not protected her.
their flight here, their weakness; how she had almost died again, how the bleeding and the fluttering words went on, how he had —
— he had;
"i k-killed for her. right here, in saltshore." his voice was empty. "i killed a m-man and when i went back to her, she was almost dead again, and the blood, so — much."
by now he had lifted his head, tones falling into greyness, eyes swollen and filled with some miserable chasm. "she told me s-she was going to d-die, that no matter what happened, she would die." he told bridget the story of how he had gone to find the witch and brought back her children, everett's appearance, and the terrible words lestan and reverie had shared. "she threatened to take her own life. just like — bridget, i don't think i-i'm any good for her. i d-don't think i can k-keep her healthy."
and there it was, all out, not so much a hand played as a deck of cards thrown into the air.
the mayfair man was silent.