Herbalists' Cache we are a hurricane; drop our anchors in a storm

"talk about what?" he pressed, his steely demeanor in speech having not receded from when he'd fired those parting shots at dawn. he fixed a gimlet gaze on alarian, searching for the answers in his eyes. when the governor asked his own question, he let out a ragged sigh, swallowing thickly. he shook his head, once or twice, collecting himself before he spoke once more.

"dawn and i. . .we are separated, now. we decided to, erm, do that." the words were wooden, hollow, so uncharacteristically lifeless that alarian must think him mad, or at least on the edge of a breakdown. and perhaps he was, but he didn't feel it. that one moment of clarity, of truth, and now sharp-edged reality had intruded once more, cutting into his thoughts.

dawn and aditya were no more. it must be that way. there was no trust and too many secrets. he hadn't told her of coelacanth; she must have crushes, too, certainly? nothing would ever be the same, and that would never change.