She could still hear the laughter in her ears. It was a joke, right; a jest seeping truth, though.
Tidhelm is struggling for some sleep at her feet, all wrapped up in furs and rope, the gagging cloth still tugged in his mouth. He seems harmless for now, perhaps she can dare a short walk around the camp. She needs to be alone for a while.
Face the truth, Melowen. You can do it. You must do it.
Irwthryth could not stay away from his beloved. Simply couldn't. Irwfrith seems to do just fine as is. Face it, Melowen: your feelings for him and his for you are not the same.
Shush you, little voice that keeps whispering in my mind. Yes, I am the one who's leaving... but it doesn't matter! It's different! I have reasons!
Reasons?
Yes. My place is in the Mark. I have to go. It's war, there's no other thing more important than this.
Not even the man you claim to love?
He understands.
Does he really?
I am sure he does.
Still, it's you who have left him behind, not the other way around.
Shut up.
No, I won't, and you know it. You can't make me shut up. I am you.
A pebble is tossed by a fierce, angry kick several feet away, killing a craban in the process. No great skill required, the crebain seems to be everywhere around them. Melowen breathes deeply, trying to calm down herself. Kicking stuff isn't going to solve anything. It doesn't even let off your steam, after all.
She wanders her gaze on the camp, Arunel is sharpening his sword, humming a tune; she feels a fit, and a deep feeling of guilt. It would be so much better, much easier, much more enjoyable, even!
Reasonable.
Yes! Much, much more reasonable as well.
So... why it doesn't work? Why?
