Foggy Bottom Way [m] las estrellas

"yes!" she sobbed, she seethed, hoping that crowfeather would not look behind the curtain at her lack of maternal love. it was not dislike, nor hatred, nor rejection; "i will not come home," she warned weakly through arid jaws, pleading up into his face as rawboned arms draped around his shoulders, "until — until you tell me you love me, crowfeather. say that —.that we will marry, sí, say you will be my husband and i your wife and — and — perhaps we might;" she grappled for his nearest wrist and held its crook against a belly she knew was now barren, but all his! the plea was in her flesh. desperation, forged, stamped, etched in all of her: none of this, none of this was worth a single step more if she must live another hour in this purgatory she had suffered for years; "or tell me you do not, crowfeather," silvertongue breathed, clinging to his arms as her own grasp slackened, "whatever you must say it now!" knowing, knowing she would surrender her very breath to him.