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

could he even bring himself to say wraen had a point? that she was right, she had only ever been right? his vision clouded, his stomach buckled. somewhere, the taste of iron stinging the corners of his tongue.

and what could he even say, what had he done? his jaw tightened as he worked his answer over and over. to what end would his answer serve to fix this — to fix any of it?

i am doing the only thing i know how. tackle it one day at a time. life is a hill. there is no going back. he felt frustrated beyond measure that he could not beautifully sum up all the things he thought. words had never been his strength.

only his downfall, it seemed. what i want doesn’t matter anymore.