Time stood still, seeming as frozen as the world that imprisoned them. Each painstaking moment seemed longer than the last. She had been blessed with dreams of their solitude, pressed close together beneath an open sky.

But not like this.

They were covered in blood - his blood - and she pressed her nose against his gaskin, afraid to move due to fear he wouldn't stop bleeding. She did this. I did this. She had reached for him and touched him and stabbed him and fucked up. Tears streamed down her face, staining his red blood with trails of cobalt blue. Everything was so red. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Look at him, damnit. She couldn't look into his eyes and see him. She couldn't see how his face was blank, empty, which was exponentially worse than had it been twisted in rage or agony or anything at all. So, instead, she mumbled a mantra, trying to convince him or herself or the gods that she was sorry, that it was an accident, that maybe if time wasn't frozen she could beg the time god to turn it back so she could fix this.

I can't fix this.

They stood still, blemishes against the permafrost, black and blue and white and red, - too much red - stark and ugly in the aftermath of their dance. What had started as a spar between friends I had wanted more, now I have less ended in a horrible mistake, a tragic misstep, a grotesque display.

'How could you do this to me?' His words were as dull as her blade was sharp. She coughed, hiding a sob beneath the facade of her breathlessness. I can't breathe. The world was suffocating her, or maybe it was her bruised and aching ribs. It was a broken heart rib that smothered her, drowned her in a wave of pressure that kept her from speaking. Did he believe she had done this was capable of doing this on purpose? Did he think god please don't think she would have ever allowed herself to injure him in the slightest way, let alone like this? How could he ask her such a question? How could he say such a thing How could I have done such a thing?

It's a waltz, stand close and follow. He moved and she moved, he tried to shy from her touch and she needed it that much more. He folded his leg neatly, in a nightmarish way maybe this is a nightmare. Did he need her to hold him up, or did she need to convince herself that staying was right, that staying was what he needed? "I didn't do this to you." I did this to me, too. Her voice was dry, each word a knife into her ribs. "Not on purpose. How could you ever think I would do this to you on purpose?" A dagger through your heart would be a dagger through mine. Don't you see?

She didn't have the words to say, and had no condolences to lessen the pain she had inflicted. She didn't understand did not have the capacity to understand his body language. She couldn't translate that his suffering was deeper than the gaping hole she had left. She didn't have the means of explaining to him, in a way he could possibly understand, how sorry she was. I'm so sorry. So she let silence fill the moat that cut between them, allowed it to fester in the fading Tallsun heat.

She was so much more than sorry. She was devastated. Ashamin. In her exhaustion she had pointed her deadliest weapon at the haruspex my wonderful Ashamin. How was that ever an option? Teeth or hooves or literally anything else would have been better, less deadly, less permanent. His tail writhed like a dying headless snake, but she couldn't be bothered to avoid the sparking coil. She deserved whatever came, as long as whatever came wasn't going to rip Ashamin away from her. He was never mine to take away.

She assumed told herself over and over again her feelings were based on friendship they had fostered. It was a short thing, delicate and new like a freshly spun web. Nothing more, nothing less. Her current concern panic was spurred by the fact she had injured him so critically. Nothing more, nothing less. It had all happened so fast. She would feel the same if she had done this to any of her herd mates. Right? There was no secret agenda, no deep underlying meaning. She didn't know him well enough to have more than a fleeting appreciation for him couldn't lov- couldn't say it. He was the haruspex, a storyteller, an integral member of her herd, her family. Her thoughts raced faster than the heartbeat within her chest.

"This wasn't supposed to happen." Obviously. But what else could she say? What else did he want from her? She finally pulled away, looking monstrous and murderous covered in all of this blood. She felt isolated, stranded in a placid sea, a sea that should be choppy and rough and full of vigor and fight. Not calm and still and lifeless. She hoped the bleeding would stop. She hoped it looked worse than it was. She hoped he would put his foot down and scold her for not being more careful. She needed him to stop acting broken.

She was selfish and self-centered. She wanted needed him to tell her he was alright. She needed to be forgiven. But instead he asked a ridiculous question. She needed more than that. She needed him to show her that he felt. Her eyes fell upon his cheeks, saw the thin lines cut with tears.

She thought too much, and in the end said too little. Tell me what to say and I'll say it.

Anything except for that.

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