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

Ah, there it was. The anger. She'd been waiting for that, waiting for the white-hot surge of bitterness always trailing the red lash of hurt. A metallic taste filled her mouth. How are you doing? Four words against a childhood of neglect. Four words against all the times she'd asked Arric when her father was coming home, all the times she'd asked and asked until she realized one day that he had no answer for her. She'd stopped asking after that.

Four words against the night of Moss's death when she'd cried in her uncle's arms instead of her father's, the day she'd limped across the borders in tatters and was tended by Eshe, the day she stumbled dying through the mountains and was saved by Blossom when it should have been Akavir. It should have been him, all of it. But he was never there.

And now he wanted to know how she was doing.

The anger burned bright and burned out in the same instant. Suddenly Mae felt very tired.

Since when do you care? She heard herself saying, but it felt hollow; drained of emotion. I'm doing real shitty. I have been for a long time. Maybe you would know that if you were ever around.