"You're gonna miss me by my walk, you're gonna miss me by my talk." [-cough-]
Send me a line from one of your favorite songs as something formy muse to reply to.
{ ♕ } Words that might have drawn her back and anchored her at his side almost left his lips, but he silently cursed his pride and watched as she turned and disappeared from his tent. A flash of gold and she was gone; all that was left was the slowly fading memory of her face, and the piercing eyes set within it.
Loghain’s body lurched forward, but he drew it back mid-step, refraining from trailing after her like a lost puppy. Nothing was permanent for her, everything was fluid. She came and went like the seasons, like the winter wind that blew through the encampment and chilled him to the very bone, but it was not something that could be caught. She slipped through his fingers like any malleable natural substance had, and she left him with nothing but regret.
Eyes turned down upon his hands then, one of two palms lifting to press over his brow as rough fingers combed into loose ebony tresses. He listened to her retreating footsteps, felt as his chest squeezed and sputtered in dismay, but he could not follow. He could not kneel, he could not beg. And so he remained with nothing more than his pride an empty feeling of overwhelming loneliness.
Loghain stepped back rather than forward, form turning from the entrance of his tent, and he retreated to his thoughts without so much as a goodbye.
