He tries to remain still, to let Kohelet do whatever it is she needs to do — scold him, yell at him, hit him if she must — but her softly uttered ’oh’ undoes him. The facade Fell thought to be stone and glacial ice has turned out to be nothing more than a veil of spun sugar, and just the heat of Kohelet’s breath in that single syllable is enough to melt it away. His face contorts, the harsh lines of it running ungracefully though guilt, regret, and loathing. His ears splay to the sides as he feels himself begin to buckle beneath the weight of his winter of guilt.

She closes her eyes, and Fell feels the slightest trembling of hope as it unfurls hesitant tendrils in his throat. She’s going to be angry with him, but then she’s going to tell him everything is okay. That they’ll fix everything together, they’ll find something to give him peace, to soothe the furious and frenzied thing inside of him.

He waits for a hand to plunge into the snow that churns heavy around him, to pull him out of these depths and rid him of the weight that compresses his chest and lungs. He waits, holding his hitching breath, but it does not come.

Kohelet opens her eyes, and Fell knows she cannot help him. He is too deep, too far gone, and if she stays — if she stays, she will be dragged down, too.

I have to go, she says, and sudden, incomprehensible fury bellows into him. It’s not truly anger, and he knows this; it’s panic, wearing a gruesome, cruel mask. If he is too deep for Kohelet to reach, then he is far too deep to help himself. The beast within him thrashes desperately, fueled by rage and fear, craving a vessel for blame. Kohelet turns away, and Fell bursts into motion, throwing his head and bucking madly as he runs to remain at her side, but he does not touch her.

Never has a voice welled so strongly within his throat, strangled and writhing. This is infinitely worse than the day on the beach, when she had been taken by Rafe. There is no outlet, no one for him to savage or beat against like waves on a storm wall. There had been nothing to say that day, but now, there are a hundred thousand things, and he can manage none of them.

Except…

As she reaches the border of the Cove, with Fell lathered and hustling beside her, he negotiates a single, rough syllable: “Koh.” It comes out like the low croak of a raven, and it hurts him to force it into being, but he manages. The rest of her name comes out as a whisper, something he’s never thought to try before. It still hurts, but less.

“Please,” he whispers, the sound like autumn wind through dead leaves. Then he croaks again, halting at the border and watching helplessly as she goes where he cannot follow: “Koh!”

FELL

stallion. 16hh. black. marwari x. Rougaru x visurix.