Witch's Marsh Don't you remember when you were young, and you wanted to set the world on fire?

Leaving was the last thing Glaukos wanted to do. Leaving meant giving in to defeat; it meant everything he had done for Rivenwood and for Druid was actually for nothing. The betrayal burned through the last of his attachment to the woman and her children, which he suspected had been part of the reason for her outburst—women weren't to be trusted. They were unstable by nature, and he had let himself fall victim to the season by laying with both Druid and Heda. He should go back, he should leave forever. There was too much anger in Glaukos to make sense of anything else he might be feeling or thinking.

He raged, he ran.

There was nothing he could do to change things now. Druid was hurt because of her own stupidity; did she really think he would stand there and accept teeth against his throat? And Fiona—how much had she seen? How much had she heard? And without him there to clarify things (as if he needed to justify anything! The ungrateful bitches—) the story would spin out of control again.

His fists punched holes in the earth. His body cleaved a path through mud. Soon he was up to his chest in wetland, and fought against that too.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now?