Bramblepoint my sweet torment

He was uncomfortable. She was making him uncomfortable. Her ears lowered as she watched the boy, still clicking uncontrollably. Ana could tell that he was trying to be kind, at least, the way Bronte always tried to be kind.

It was a wasted effort.

Slowly the clicking faded into silence in the wake of his question. Anathema nodded after a moment, whether the boy looked back to her or not. I used to live on an island. Surrounded by water, She said. Her gaze followed his to the water. I miss the way it sounded.

I need to go back. But he wouldn't care; why should he? He was just some boy, and she was just some strange girl.