Shadowwyn Moor Babe I'm Gonna Leave You

Fire? he says as her legs tremble beneath her frame, brows furrowing as her lip flattens.  No, she wants to say, but she finds that she can't push back the lump in her throat or the dryness of her mouth.  It's like her voice has been stolen from her again, and she's powerless to do anything about it.  The man in front of her is more pitiful than the hale, handsome thing that'd wooed her beneath the apple trees.  She thinks if she looks at him right she might see the scallop of his ribs, that his cheekbones are just a little more pronounced than they should be.

He moves close and presses himself against her and she fights the urge to cry, to retch, and to run all at the same time.  Her breath comes faster now and she smashes her lids shut as she lets out a tight whine.  She hasn't been held like this since —

I was, she manages after a beat, tongue running against her dry lips, the roof of her mouth.  They held me until recently.  I was able to escape by coming through the mountain, but I'm on the wrong side.  I didn't want to cross again until I was healthy or — or until I didn't have to go alone.  Escaping doesn't mean anything if they get me again.  Despite having every intention to abandon the Redhawks, she wasn't going to do it without telling them first and she wouldn't be made out to be a deserter, even if that was the farthest thing from Bruges' mind.  Is that what you're doing out here?  Looking for me?  She's skeptical and hopeful in the same breath, and the clashing feelings make her nauseous.