Swiftcurrent Creek witchlore

reverie. her name evoked the gilded feathers; it was all lestan could do to keep from flinching. desperately he searched through the debris of his mind, trying to find what akavir was currently speaking about.
there were hazes, angry things said, a flight from the creek into the coast.
"i s-should have t-trusted you." there was no need for perfection. not now. not before. "i'm s-sorry, akavir." the lump in his throat felt horrible, growing now; "i — it only g-got w-worse, once we l-left. and then i g-got left." a humourless smile quirked his mouth to know that there had been no reason to go at all.