Qeya River tu el aire que respiro yo

i trust you, and guilt sparkled as if it were a spread of nighttime stars glittering sharply inside her gut. "right." he has to be. he will be. there was no place for akavir here, and there could not be, and there would not be, and she — they would do their best to excise him, if need be. and still! she wondered, wondered in soft, foolish pastels for a wandering, flighty moment. her feelings for the man did not mirror those of wren; it had been a true and deep love, a stream marked by several razoring stones that at last cut them both into pieces. "it was different," silvertongue echoed back, not needing new words to say in return the way that love for wren had pierced her chest and mind and spirit so immediately, and so immensely. no man had done that for her before.