Hushed Willows Amid a Crashing World

He didn't leave, but she sensed the retreat in his words. Foxglove had expected as much. These things happen. She spared him one last glance, lips parting slightly as if she meant to say something more. But she didn't. She just left.

It wouldn't occur to her until later that she hadn't even gotten his name, hadn't even given her own. It wouldn't occur to her until much, much later that maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe she was lonely after all. Maybe she did need a stranger's pity. But by then it would be too late, of course. She'd chosen, as she always had, to chase the horizon.