Duck Lake I never listen, but I see it with my eyes closed

Her reaction to him was visceral to him. Hatred seemed to emanate from her—the same hatred he had received from her for months now.

She was scarred, and battered. But she was alive… and he hoped she was well.

A cold greeting—and perhaps a gleeful observation on her part at his ragged appearance. A wane smile broke upon his lips—but did not meet his eyes. “Aye,” he agreed, but left it at that—what else was there to say?

“How are you doing?”

He looked to her now. Trying to pinpoint the moment her love for him had turned to absolute hatred.