Haunted Wood Cut myself on angel hair and baby's breath

Oh —

she'd hurt him; she'd never meant to hurt him, not him, and so Alara swept after him with a little cry of grief and desperation. Don't leave. Please. Not him. Not him, too.

Whether she caught him or not she would trail him helplessly. What kind of woman followed her own shadow? No woman at all, perhaps, only a siren; a song of the sea fading with every mile churned beneath her feet. Fading, but still following; weakening in body but never her strength of will.

He would take her to the sea, she hoped.

Or she would die before she ever saw it again.