Porcupine Ridge you only live forever in the lights you make

Poet doesn't apologise for making him flinch, though her expression does give way to something more tender, briefly, before she lowers her eyes to Cortland's broken form. So pointedly is her gaze fixed away that she does not register Phocion moving closer until he is nearly on her, tensing and then yielding under his touch. This is not the first time she has felt the embrace of a grief-stricken loved one. Nostalgic visions overwhelm her, and underneath, something more, something white-hot settled along the sharp lines of her bones, something ... something she cannot touch, yet.

She does not pull away.

"This is not your fault," she tells him, hiding the slight tremble in her voice against his skin. She draws in one shaky breath, and then one steady. "And he will not die, not under my watch," the ex-priestess promises, against her best self. It's dangerous to make promises one can't keep; how could she know if Cortland won't yet be taken by infection? But if it will relieve Phocion of some of this burden, she will take the weight of it onto herself, for him.