Conversation (1/2)

Rowan sat like a broken doll on his patio, barely able to move because of the poison inside him. A dull ache had taken root in his chest, but he couldn't tell if it was because he'd finally pushed himself too far or because of Wren's sudden spiral away from him.

Oblivious to his pain, the sky lightened in shades of lilac and fire to usher in a sunrise that filled him with a sense of rancor because of its refusal to be anything less than glorious. 

Loma popped her head out of his doorway as if to make sure he was where he said he'd be while she made him a pot of tea, then disappeared inside again. Prompted by her vision, she'd been waiting for him in the garden when he'd returned through the shadows, half-dead and on the verge of collapse, a tear-spent Mara clinging to his hand.