The Sentinels godspeed on the devil's thunder

"ah, but it was not your responsibility to end things," lasher murmured as she curled into his embrace, gently reminding the youngling that he was the older here, the more experienced. and though the innocent warmth of her was welcome; though he was pleased to be a comfort to her, even as she feared the budding hungers of her own body, which he had awoken, her words did cut him rather deeply. 

taltos was unused to rejection, but he was also rarely the pursuant in these instances. his romances had been built of himself as a willing quarry, or a mutual attraction -- all at once he felt the grief of it keenly, and following upon its heels came the greyness of age to dog his steps. lasher felt old, unwanted, devoid of his previous charm.

yet he spoke none of this to aria; he kissed gently, platonically, her forehead. "perhaps," he managed, smiling warmly down at the girl, though in the wild places of his spirit there came a scream for luke, for caiaphas, for those he loved but had not possessed, even the fleeting touch of a stranger to restore to him what this lovely and saddening interlude had stolen.