He'd let her down gently when they returned to the village, briefly bracing her against his chest before drawing away. She had never lowered her eyes from his face, and it felt like an eternity before her toes brushed the ground.
He was letting her go in the same breath-catching moment that she suddenly feared he was a delirious dream: destined to shatter like bone china.
She'd curled her fingers into the mesh of his shirt desperately, perhaps in some attempt to anchor him to herself. He paused expectantly. His heartbeat was subdued and soothing under her palm.
Years later, lying in bed and watching shadows dance on her ceiling, she will remember almost asking him to tell her again. To repeat what it was that had caught his attention. She will remember the way the stray strands of hair clutched in his hand gleamed vividly in the wan light.
Instead, she'd slowly loosened her hold and murmured "thank you."