Broken Antler Fen i drive into corning, and all the spindles whine

there arcturus’ soul went, on the wings of a question so hopeless he was a fool to have uttered it. and he knew — hopeful and hopeless as he was — that little had changed since he had last broached this topic.

well, plenty had changed in his life and one thing was fervently still true: he lived for wraen. his hopes of a family, his hopes of a dynasty, of leading a life worth living — it had all crumbled the moment moonspear had toppled.

in some small way, his life had always been building up to that point — as if he were on a course set for self-destruction and self-implosion, and he had only ever been the agent of change ushering it along.

arcturus saw, the way one might sneak a glimpse through partially shaded fern in a brief glimpse of brilliant sun, how he did not deserve wraen. she was in more ways his better; she had tried to shape him to be the potential she saw in him, and he had only ever thrust his spear woefully short.

he’d done so little to earn her love, truly — and here he was declaring it like some spring whelp on the cusp of his manhood.

he saw in her a change he did not wish he was the progenitor of; of hurt, tension, and distantly, revulsion. he had placed that in her — no other — and he had only himself to blame.

still, the kindness in which wraen honestly spun her rejection made this part a little easier. his soul might sever and his heart might sink — but it would not turn or fester. she gave him a clean breakaway, an unflinching answer — and he would be fool to miss it.

it hurt.

he didn’t want a life without her. he didn’t want a life where she was unhappy to see him, either. had he not been the unwitting architect in that? had he not singlehandedly ruined their good friendship because of his own selfish needs?

arcturus stepped back and wedged a sigh against the wind that ruffled his coat. suddenly the light seemed glaring and his skin unbearable. i understand. he did, truly — she had stuck to her guns and Arcturus loved her for it; the last thing he wanted was for her to change for him. if she did that, truly, would she be the woman he loved so earnestly?

even if she did not love him in return, that was who she was, and it was the very mold which defined her that arcturus felt so passionate for. that she would not compromise herself for him made his heart sing all the louder, even as darkness thrummed all around it.

you have only ever been honest with me. i would rather that honesty than to fruitlessly chase some false glimpse of hope i mistakenly saw. his head hung low, his bedraggled pelt suddenly seemed listless. i’m sorry, wraen.

he knew his presence had darkened the room; suddenly, he felt unwelcome. not by wraen, but simply by the pressure he had inspired in the situation. if he stayed, his presence might sour her further. thank you. you’ve given me more than i deserve. gradually the space between them grew as he took steps further back — unless he was invited to stay, arcturus would make his exit and leave wraen in peace.