Swiftcurrent Creek Sound the bugle now, play it just for me

A scorching, blunt-edged knife may as well have slit from rib to pelvis. The children. Silver's children, the ones she bore to the man who was not Wren.
And there were so many things Wren could have said, so many malevolent licks of fire that itch and burn. Of how Akavir had cast her, too, aside for a prettier girl, of how Silvertongue had all but ripped the red heart right from her chest and taken it with her when she'd left. Of how Wren thought daily of saying fuck it and going after her, and how she wasn't sure that if she did — and if Silvertongue was still alive and willing — that they would return.
I love her, y'know. and she did not think she needed to say the name; the soft blanket of sudden raw, visceral agony swallowing her as she yet again meets the soft eyes of Sandulf.