And then she’d curled back up with Amity as if she hadn’t shattered me then put the jagged pieces back together again all in a few words. As if those words weren’t the ones I’d been waiting for someone, anyone, to whisper. I cared. And that was going to be a problem. I’d cared enough to nudge her awake, though I’d known better than to think that she’d truly been sleeping. I’d cared enough to dress her wounds, to refashion a sling from my own tunic. And when my fingers had brushed her hair, I hadn’t been able to help allowing them to linger, to comb just barely through those vibrant curls. I’d
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