Bramblepoint But I miss you in the mornings when I see the sun.

akavir.
another blow. another disappointment. another man who had hurt her, albeit indirectly.
her jawline tightened. "i know akavir." they looked nothing alike, these two, for if she had seen any of the dark features and golden eyes, she might not have received him so well.
akavir; she had not thought of him in years, and now ibis came breaking upward, upward, as if the pain had never eased, as if teya had never felt herself thrown aside for some man who had not even fathered the children born to the woman in the fen;
the snow, the way they had sought one another, again and again until ibis had chosen akavir once and for all. until she died, and all teya had left was a gravestone and the emptiest parts of her heart.
"what happened?"