Perhaps I am supposed to feel like a traitor beneath the embers of her almost-hate. Maybe that's what this is-- the arrow, the fire, the snap of teeth in snarls instead of smiles. But I do not know to bow before things that see in black and white to the kaleidoscope of my world. And even if I wanted to bow my head in shame, in apology, in joy (perhaps in another world all my friends would not be sharp edges and brittle hearts), my spine is weary from the war and it only wants to rest.
But there will be no rest here, not with Morrighan and her sharp and brittle edges. It's in her eyes, that black glare that tells me I will have to pay over, and over, and over again before she will understand and forgive me for a sin that I will never apologize for.
Fable rests his head between us and when I move forward it's to him. He's all scale, and salt, and sea-water and not a single one of his edges his brittle or made of soot and ember. His wing curls above me, he calls it a shield, and I know that he can feel all my edges wearing down and growing brittle. He never wants me to break more than I already am.
I wish I could say the same for the rest of the world.
“They are all on the ship waiting for it to dock.” There is no more I will give her than this. Fable's scales feel cool when I rest my cheek against him, cooling the fire and the rage rising like tides below my skin. My eyes close. I see swords and blood enough to flood a forest.
I open them. Tonight will be soon enough for the memories and the nightmares to come.
“I will not apologize for leaving Morrighan.” This time it's painful to look at her with her loyalty hanging from her like armor. I do not have the energy to try to pierce it. Not now. “So if you have come only to glare at me until I do--” My sigh feels like a snarl at the back of my teeth. “I'm sure you remember the way home.”
