What did he do was that so potently and horrifyingly wrong to make him deserve Shadow's abysmal and distasteful behavior? It was as if she had forced sour wine down his throat, or rum or scotch or something hot and fiery, something that hurt much more than it soothed. All the elvish boy of soft eyes and tender flesh wanted was Shadow's warm wings and smiles, to be with her and to not only care for the child, but for her to come to terms with it... they couldn't just fall apart, split and fray and crack along the edges! They were mortal and fragile things, and he they were unraveling.

It was his fault, Carnesîr knew. He had pushed and smiled and traced the contours of her black corset as if he wanted to devour her, as if it was their one and only chance... and it was, for she didn't care for him, that was all too clear.

Maybe the unicorns in the Basin had the right idea, hiding in their cold wintry caves, breath steaming from their nostrils in clouds of silver smoke, alone and untainted by the monsters hidden in equid flesh. Those with horns on their brows never fought him, never hurt him, never cut him down to the soul like Shadow, the girl with the cursed name. And it was that realization that stung, bitter as salt rubbed into the wound, what a wicked little conniving bitch she was, who screamed at him and shouted out his name as if he were Satan returned to earth again.

He just wanted to go fucking home. All he had wanted was to care for her, to play with her and dance in the sands beside her, to whisper stories and watch her belly grow bigger and bigger.

Instead he was scorned.

Carnesîr was not accustomed to anger, the hotness that swelled in his stomach and burned in his eyes, the tightness in his chest. Maybe it wasn't anger. Maybe it was this powerless feeling of Shadow's pigheaded stubborn carelessness, how she stood over him with her violet eyes and fucking pretty face.

"Do you really think I would come back to you if I had intentions of only leaving you and yonya again? Nányë Carnesîr, tullen tye-rehtien!"

Leave me alone. He thought to himself, when she turned those big eyes on him. Leave me alone. He thought to himself, as she snapped at him. Leave me alone. He thought to himself, at Gaucho's rumbling voice filled with an ominous tone even clueless Carnesîr could recognize.

"Fuck off," Carnesîr whispers, eyes full of hurt and abandonment and despair and this overwhelming powerlessness. "Don't worry Shadow, I didn't fuck her..." How he wants to hurt her, to rip and tear and crown her with the same vulnerability Shadow had bestowed upon him. He didn't want to run. Not today. He was tired of running, tired of fleeing, tired of lying and hiding and making his poor and shabby living on the fringes of society, being a scholar and an emissary and some weak little fool. That's what she thought he as. Weak and despicable and foul.

And he was, and that's what hurt the most.

"Onni comforted me when I was hurt." The elvish boy snapped, his tone barbed with an unlikely hint of hostility.

"Are you done questioning me now? Are you finished blaming me for what was your mistake too? Lau!" The boy snorted, kneading the sand with one hoof. "Eca, a mitta lambetya cendelessë orcova." And his ears pinned and twisted, his pretty face twisting into a hideous mockery of them.