Broken Antler Fen i drive into corning, and all the spindles whine

just as he turned to go, wraen spoke. while he did not expect her to change her mind, or even an explanation, he still felt his heels dig into the dirt.

arcturus turned around readily, solemn gaze resting on wraen as she spoke not of them, but his early life.

he could tell her a million things, but would it matter? would it change her view of him, or their future, if for once he spoke his mind instead of keeping his words close to his breast?

arcturus agreed in a small way, that he’d grown linear in his thinking. it was one of the reasons he valued wraen so dearly — every day she challenged him in some new way to be better, and he knew his life was richer still for her inhabiting it.

but he also knew that everyone was made of a different cloth. not everyone was born to walk the same path, endure the same experiences. and even those who walked the same dusty road, why one would think the journey sublime and the other would finish parched and full of resentment. no two souls saw or experienced life the same way — what may have been a grand exodus for wraen was a long and harrowing gauntlet for the little boy who grew up in moonspear’s shadow.

she spoke of happiness and discovery, two words which wrenched from arcturus any semblance of joy. happiness was not a permanent condition. discovery came at great costs — the cost of duty, of love, sometimes family and life. and while these things fulfilled wraen and made her life rich, arcturus knew his place was not on life’s long and endless road hitherto — his life was in the homestead, the tavern; where he could bring a little light to those travelers who carried on his path before they met their journey’s end.

for a while he was silent, digesting wraen’s dissemination of him. he wanted to protest more than anything, but his tongue seemed to have more sense than his heart.

i have only ever known unhappiness. he started at last, feeing a thread unravel somewhere within the dark keeps of his careful heart. i do not think that the zenith of my happiness relies solely on you — but i know who i am, and it is not a traveler or a journeyman. i would not find happiness in these places you speak of. i can’t build on my past life. i can only go forward. that is how i heal and learned.

for a while, i believed i could build something with you. something better than my past, stone by stone — but a wolf is nothing without his pack. i saw your importance in this vision — you were the foundation, even. but life and dreams are often different, and i have to accept that. that they were, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, intrinsically incompatible.

he had to accept it, because in another life and another world where they were together, he would turn her bitter and tired.

even if i don’t want to; i am sorry if i ever made you unhappy, wraen. it wrenched his insides to be so open, but he felt he owed it to her in turn.