If am lost, I am lost on purpose.
Alaska has seen death before, but never like this. It has always been a clean death. The kind of death that comes from predator and prey. It is fast and it is merciful and it is just. But she has never seen this kind. The kind of savagery that would leave a man with his face mauled and his throat nearly torn out. The kind of hate that would carry a man to death’s doorstep and not bother to kick him across the threshold.
It steals the air from her lungs, tightens her chest until she feels as though she may burst.
She takes another shaking step forward, doing her best to keep her fear from taking over her features, but she has no practice with lying, and she feels that her lack of practice fails her now. “What—what kind of misunderstanding?” she finally manages, her voice strange and echoing in her hollow mouth. She can’t imagine what kind of misunderstanding someone could have with someone like Mesec.
When he begins to move, she stumbles forward again and before she knows it, she is next to him on the ground, making soft noises in the back of her throat. “Shh. Shh. Don’t move,” she gets out, feeling lightheaded and terrified for perhaps the first time in her life. She isn’t sure if it is better or worse that she touches him, but it is the only comfort that she can think to give him. So she stretches her body until she can wrap gingerly around him, larger and longer than usual, and she presses a soft kiss to his temple.
“I don’t,” she admits, because she can’t lie to him, not now.
Which is the same thing that keeps her from telling him it’ll be okay.
Instead, a single tear falls down her cheek.
“I wish I had more time to know you,” and this is the only truth she knows how to give him.
@[Mesec]