Broken Boulder ten detected, nine in a wreck and

Aside from treating her symptoms when he was able, Alarian had been avoiding @Lily since her return. He didn't know what to say to her— could hardly even stand to look at her anymore. It was, without a doubt, his fault that she had fallen into the river; it was his fault she had left in the first place, after all. As far as he was aware, Lily had no issue with anyone else in the Sanctuary.
Of all the things he had destroyed, he regretted this most. There was simply no fixing it— no taking it back. He had taken a life before, but he had felt justified in that, and it had been so much more straight forward. This— this felt as if he had burned the life from her, clumsy and careless with the flames of his own wreckage. She could never speak again, and without speech, would they ever know if there was other lasting damage to her mind?
Did he want to know?
He shuddered, pausing his herb-collecting as his chest started to tighten. The things he had taken from her had not been his to take— had never been his desire to take. Happiness, a home, mobility, her voice. Alarian swallowed hard and bent to resume picking the flowers; he'd shake out the seeds later, when he had collected enough.

Lily had no malice in her heart for Alarian. That she had nearly drowned after an argument with the Governor was of no consequence to her. How could she blame him for her accident? That was precisely what it had been--an accident. If anything, she was sorry she had left so abruptly, so coldly. She knew it must have hurt him.

She thought of all this and more as she stood from afar, watching him gather his plants. A silent dark shadow, wordless and timid.

Eventually, she made the decision to step forward, out of her comfort zone. Then another step, and another. It was a limping, halting walk, but she was healing day by day. Soon, but perhaps not soon enough, she was standing near him, looking at him with a quiet smile. Lily dipped her muzzle toward the greenery--can I help? She took one of the flowers gently between her teeth, tugging it from the ground and setting it near her paws.

He still hadn't gotten used to how quiet she was, but the slow shuffle her gait had become alerted him well enough. Alarian looked up, lungs restricting at the sight of her. For several beats he couldn't react; honestly, all he could do was pity himself. Finally, he blinked several times, glancing down for a moment before offering her a nod.
Then he turned back to the flowers, suddenly feeling guilty. He knew Lily loved to talk— knew it was likely driving her mad, being so quiet. That didn't mean he had any intention of breaking the silence; oh, he felt awful about it, but that had never stopped him. There was nothing he wanted to say— maybe it would always be that way, now.

He didn't smile back, and hers faded, settling into a neutral, almost worried expression as she continued to pluck flowers. After a small but respectable pile had been gathered, she looked back up at him, ears rotating in uncertainty. Her mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. She didn't force the air up her throat that would surely emerge as garbled nonsense. Tears came to her eyes.

Lily looked away, a single drop spilling down her cheek, arranging her pile into a different shape for lack of anything better to take her mind off the pain. She sniffled, drawing her paw over her face before clearing her throat and continuing to work in silence.

She didn't know how he felt about her. Was it resentment he held, or guilt? Lanawyn had looked at her like she'd killed someone. Everyone else had been scarce. Lily felt like a complete twat. Both for the short-sighted decision she'd made to leave, and by putting herself in the position to get hurt in the first place. Now she had no words, and everyone hated her.

If he was being honest with himself, he was terrified. He and Lily did not understand each other on some level— perhaps wouldn't ever, and that could have been okay once. Now, it could never be okay. Now he knew what damage he could do to her— he knew what kind of monster he could make himself. She could have died. And maybe, maybe now she would only live half a life— he could not risk taking the rest from her.
So he didn't say a word. His pause followed Lily's in short order, and he glanced over her pile with an appreciative nod. The seeds would not shake loose until the poppies were dried, so he bundled his own closer together and gestured for her to add what she had collected. He would take them somewhere to dry later.
Thank you, He managed, voice almost toneless; perhaps he was trying a bit too hard to compose himself. He settled himself awkwardly, looking at anything but Lily. It didn't feel right to just leave— and part of him didn't want to. He wanted to linger, to try to somehow fix this even if she was mute and broken because he didn't think he could stand this another moment, but— that would only be tormenting both of them.
So he floated somewhere between the two, eventually staring at her in silence as if she was a ticking time bomb.

She smiled in acceptance of his thanks, lips stretching, looking more like her old self. She nosed at the flowers--gently, so as not to mess up the arrangement--then looked back up at Alarian, a question in her eyes. What are these? What are they for? Lily was hopeless with plants. She always had been. But they were pretty, at least.

She hated the way he looked at her. Like she was some sort of diseased creature. They used to be friends; what happened to that? She had messed everything up, irrevocably. And the worst part was that she couldn't run away again, at least not for the time being. Her ankle wouldn't allow it. She was trapped here.

A low whine escaped her lips, her eyes growing darker as she stared at Alarian. Why won't you talk to me?

I'm sorry, The words spilled from him on the heels of her whine, a panic growing in his chest. I'm sorry. I didn't— I didn't mean to drive you away. I didn't mean to fuck things up, like I always do. It's not you, it was never you. I'm just—
He swallowed hard, voice low and trembling now. I always feel so empty— so worthless, and there are so few things that take that feeling away— I get caught up in it. Everything falls apart, so it's easier if I just don't look. I'm never good enough, so it's easier if I just don't try. All I can think about is making myself feel okay for once.
I didn't mean to let it hurt you, Alarian looked away from her, the tremble reaching his limbs now. But I can't stop.

She wanted so badly to touch him, to reassure him, but she was afraid of him, too. That if she pushed her muzzle against his shoulder, he would explode, or at the very least, run away again. She shifted on her paws in a very uncomfortable fashion through this whole speech, eyes flashing up then down, up then down. When he had finally finished, Lily fixed her gaze on him, blinking softly before shaking her head.

It's not you. Her eyes were soft. I love you, Ali. You're family. All the words she wanted to say, but couldn't, fluttered through her mind like autumn leaves picked up on an icy, blustering wind. Instead, she hoped that her face conveyed everything she felt, that the openness she had always offered to Alarian carried through now.

Finally, she dipped her muzzle in a gracious bow, coming inches away from brushing her nose against Alarian's shoulder but stopping just short. She didn't know how he would react to her touch; she would only give him that kind of love if he allowed it. Otherwise, she waited for him to reply, gaze completely and utterly guileless.

He found her reaction more surprising than anything, but there was relief, too— almost enough to outweigh the embarrassment already setting in. He hadn't meant to spill all that, and now it just sounded dramatic to him; of course, it was, but Lily had almost died and that was pretty dramatic, so it seemed appropriate for the situation at least.
Or maybe he was just telling himself that so he wouldn't die on the spot. He leaned forward slightly to press his own muzzle to Lily's cheek, a little overwhelmed with the weight of what felt like forgiveness— he knew he'd question it later, unable to fully accept something not spoken aloud, but for a moment it felt like it might be okay.
He was quiet after that, but he stayed with Lily for awhile longer, parting from her after they'd taken the poppies back to his den to dry out for a time.