Dragoncrest Cliffs i gotta get mine, i gotta get it

Her own eyes were turned away, focused elsewhere. ”Dragomir,” she mused, before turning back, gaze on his throat, and daubing at the wound with moss and garlic. Giving a small sigh through a pink nose, she withdrew and returned with another poultice; once it was laved and applied, she made to rise, but was suddenly held in place by a glint of — tears?

The last thing he would want would be to be doted on; and here she was, edging that exact definition. Ears pressed back with a flush of shame, and she averted her eyes at his chagrin. But then she realized she hadn’t finished, and quietly did so: ”and Isilmë. Drago, Isi — it’s... it’s what’s gone through my mind ze last few days.” She was probably making this worse; making it seem as if shortening the names would help.

Unable to face him, she gathered up her things and set about clearing the area up, if only to give them both some space to breathe. Usually, she would address them — the tears. Yet, as she came back to him, there was a hesitation to her, as much as there was nothing more she wished to do than drape herself alongside him, cradle him. What could she do, or say?

”You are not a waste, Verx. You are worth every goddamned—“ Her own tears returned, a hot film, seething in the cusp of dark lashes; and she turned from him once more, her pale face dark with her own fury, at Rose, at whoever else had doubted his survival; willing her tongue to keep from profanities. Aure kept herself facing elsewhere, pressing her eyes closed closed closed to keep the rivulets at bay. ”We must leave.”