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“You couldn’t be more wrong.” You know he jests, that he no doubt feels like a stranger around you like this, know that it is his way of trying to make things right. You can feel him relax against you, the strain of his muscles suddenly less noticeable, and for that you breathe a little easier, the guilt in your heart for falling apart in front of him ebbing into gratefulness. “The strange god, the bear, I saw you there. I followed you, to protect you…” your words become quieter as you continue, the fear that the memory brings fluttering in your heart. You push closer to him, breathing in once more the scent of his skin. You would not say the things that lay within your heart, all the things that you had felt seeing him rush into such carnage, all the things that had worried you since then. He is not a man that needs to be coddled, nor protected, you know, but there are times when you cannot help it, your fear of losing him overriding rationality. “I saw him there too.” But a bird’s wing on the window, so naked and frail as it tumbles from your lips. “He tried to talk to me, but I only wanted to hurt him. I wouldn’t even listen, I…” The words catch within your throat, the tears that had begun to subside swelling all over again. It is regret that brings them this time, regret for pushing the man that you had thought you loved, that had hurt you, away without so much as a second thought. It had never been like you to want to cause pain, and the fact that you had tried so fervently to… it makes you feel so ashamed.
“The bear’s blood burned me, I didn’t have time to mend it; too many others needed it more.” You do not know why you hadn’t in the days after the battle, maybe because you wanted it as a reminder, a permanent mark should your emotions or memories ever fade. “Rohan, he, the man I attacked–” It feels so heavy on your heart then, a secret which you feel should be buried but won’t be because of the life growing inside of you. It is testament to his wrongdoings, and you are afraid to keep it to yourself any longer. “–he,” But you cannot bring yourself to say it, instead biting back a sob as you pull from him, your steps deliberate as you move to try and show him your sides, swelling with something you don’t want, not yet, not the way it happened. You hope it is enough for him to understand the things you are too afraid, too humiliated, to put into words. But as your eyes lift up to finally look at him, there is no mistaking the sores bleeding along his body, no doubt painfully. “You’re hurt too.” It is not a question, but a fear brought to life, even if it is not what terrors you had thought up originally. It eats away at your heart, steeling it for just moments from the sorrow that you had been drowning in, the sudden guilt for not noticing sooner, for not asking, too much. Without asking you press your muzzle to the skin just beneath his ear, your flesh ghosting against his as you summon the last bit of energy that you have to try and cure him of his affliction.
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like punching in a dream, breathing life into a nightmare
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[P] you'll never be what is in your heart
