Dawn Treader Valley I think you worry way too much

wren's words had not left her mind. it was all true: she was running. they had tried. wren was still there. wren waited. somehow that pierced most of all, the idea that the woman she loved was going to look out at the horizon each day. silvertongue wished again that the desert had taken her; they would grieve, but not like this. the concept of salvaging what had happened was so insurmountable that silvertongue focused on what the other was saying, speaking of men and women in that heavy accent. "i will go home when i am ready. if i live." and the glassblue eyes were heavy with the notion that she did not want such years.