The Heartwood [m] In what appears to be a ritual "Godspeak" song of the Rieklings

The pain of the moment had been easy to forget, until the boy asked after her self-inflicted wound. It was still bleeding, warmth still seeping over her neck and shoulders — and Anathema might have been content to stay this way, to let herself bleed and bleed until there was nothing left and her last breath shuddered from cold lips. But then he spoke of it, and as if on cue the pain lanced through her head in a blinding arc of white.

She had hurt herself terribly; more than the girl realized now, perhaps more than she would ever know.

Yes, Ana said quietly, seaglass eyes searching his. He had pretty eyes, blue eyes, not like the sea but the sky on a bright and cloudless day. And his pine-sap scent, his steady warmth, it reminded her of something she could not quite place; like a memory of home long lost to time. You help. She murmured, not a request but a statement of fact. He made all the pain fade from her. And what more did she really need?