Jade Fern Grove chafa

i needed to do it! came the words to corrode her tongue, but then eshe was between them — where she had meant the argent woman to be. a boundaryline. again she wanted to speak, she matters because you are in pain, and again the words did not come, because his nearness galloped through her stomach; her pulse careened, and the children — her children, wren's children — kicked, tightening her jaw. his breath was warm upon her ear, a transparent wash along the side of her face. but she did not struggle a third time; her eyes burnt hotly up toward his own as she pulled away, stepping back. "do you know i do not care? do you know why? i will tell you; i will not let you wait, akavir," silvertongue darted along the trail of their conversation, defiant; "because she was not me. and because she was not me, i knew you would not let her be anyone to you." defiant! cruel! but there would exist only truths between them now, no matter how the knife-edge caught them both. akavir would not have hesitated for a moment had it been silvertongue coming to him in her time; she would not have had to ask. "but tell me all the same, cuervo, why you went home and chose immediately all the things you decided i could never give?" oh pain; oh; tears; she forced them back, and thought in desperation that she could return to wren in absolution and empty of the silver string which refused to be cut between her heart and the creek.