AN: Shameful OOCness on Selendrile's part, because I couldn't stand his (accurate, sadly) portrayal as a heartless dragon in the companion to this story, Nothing Left. This is me trying to redeem him, and making him completely OOC in the process. Anywho, enjoy!

P.S. It's my birthday! Not really. It's my one-year anniversary of joining fanfiction(.)net. So yay for me!

Please forgive me for the sorrow
For leaving you in fear
For the dreams we had to silence
That's all they'll ever be
Still I'll be the hand that saves you
Though you'll not see that it is me

—Hand of Sorrow, by Within Temptation

Never Look Back

She was an odd girl. He was fairly certain of that, despite his general lack of contact with humans . . . or perhaps because of it. After all, what ordinary human girl could catch and hold his attention? But that was the problem, really: it wasn't only his attention she held. Over the weeks since he had impulsively invited her to bear him company, she had earned his affection and perhaps even his respect: the first being to have done so in years.

But there was one inescapable fact that barred him from allowing himself to care for her too deeply: he was dragon; she was human. She was so fragile . . . so breakable. And as dear as she had become to him, she also possessed the talent to rile him like nothing else. He'd never been prone to dramatic rages, but he could always tell when he had allowed anger to show through his emotionless façade by the flash of fear in her eyes. Still though, she had no idea how close he was, sometimes, to snapping; to breaking her. Years of isolation had put him out of practice in controlling these volatile dragon emotions, and thus each new wave of anger struck him like an iron hammer. Just as he was powerless to resist her oddly endearing character, he was also powerless to resist the rage that she could stir with naught but a careless word.

But he tried. Oh, he tried! But he knew with a sinking certainty that one day soon he would lose the precarious control he held over his more primitive side, and all the regret in the world couldn't change the consequences of his actions if that happened.

There was only one choice he could make and still live with himself.

He insulted her, laughed at her, ignored her, was purposely cruel, but she never left; she refused to give up on him, on this strange relationship they had. She still retained her senseless affection for him, still viewed him as her friend. This made him even angrier: after all, she didn't know of his whispered apologies while she slept with tears on her lashes; she didn't know that the thought of losing her filled him with an aching emptiness that he hadn't felt for years, not since, in his adolescent rebellion, he had left his home and family in favor of exploring the world, but that the thought of her death was so much more painful that it wasn't even comparable; she didn't know that he was only a very good liar. Why did she refuse to take that final step and abandon him? What possible motivation could she have to stay when he gave her every reason to leave?

It didn't matter. It seemed that he would need to be the instigator after all.

He began the separation slowly, transitioning bit by bit from goading her at every turn and treating her with icy contempt, to weary indifference. Despite it all, he found himself hurt when, finally, this method worked. As he withdrew, she did the same. It was time to go. She would be alright.

But she still said his name in her sleep at night.

He released his grip on Alys' arms, depositing her unceremoniously into a haystack and firmly repressed the familiar stirring of fond amusement when she made no sound but a barely audible gasp. Once she would have screamed like the end of the world was coming . . . but it was best not to think of such things.

Circling once as Alys struggled her way out of the haystack, he came in and landed carefully just as she finally came free. She came toward him, brushing the debris off of her person. He felt a pang as she tilted her head in that oh-so-familiar way and asked, "Selendrile? Why are we stopping?"

Her voice still contained that warmth that he'd been trying so hard to banish. Perhaps it would always be there. Selfishly, he hoped it would. Don't hate me, he pleaded silently, though he'd been trying to bring about the opposite for weeks.

His mask was carefully in place as he shifted forms and, as usual, she turned bright red and studiously kept her gaze directed away from him. He drank in the sight, knowing that it would likely be the last time he saw that blush. Almost automatically, he went forward and took the pack from her so that he could dress.

"Selendrile?" she said again once he'd finished. He watched her. What was he supposed to say? 'I've grown tired of you'? 'Dragons and humans were never meant to coexist'? 'Goodbye'? Obviously he couldn't say, 'Sorry, but I'm afraid that if you don't leave soon I'm going to kill you'.

Finally he settled on a quick, stiff gesture northward, and "Griswold is four miles that way."

He watched as her inquisitive expression shifted briefly to confusion, then shocked comprehension.

"You're leaving me." It was plain in Alys' voice that the reality of this hadn't really registered yet—either that, or she was just refusing to accept it.

"Yes," was his steady, indifferent reply.

She shook her head, too quickly, and something like panic filled her gaze as she took a single step forward. "No . . ." she said quietly, a desperate denial. "No, you can't leave me. You can't."

Her words provoke a surge of anger, because it was almost true. He, Selendrile, could hardly bear to separate himself from one ordinary human girl. He viciously reined in the anger, managing to say calmly, "I can do whatever I wish."

The blood drained from her face, and that too-familiar fear warred with desperation in her eyes. Perhaps he hadn't been as successful in hiding his anger as he'd thought. She came no closer, but one hand stretched out, as if in supplication.

"Please. Please don't go," she pleaded brokenly. Selendrile was angry all over again, but this time at himself, for failing to break her attachment to him. She still cared for him, and consequently, his leaving still hurt her; perhaps even more than he'd ever imagined. He wanted to take her away, to keep her forever as his, and only his. Instead, he curled his lip, as though repulsed, and turned away.

Unmindful of the breeches he was still wearing, he shifted to his natural form, shredding them, and crouched, preparing to take off.

"Selendrile!" came the cry from behind him. "No! Come back here you stupid dragon!" His mind went back to their first meeting, and he began to distance himself from the dull ache in his heart even as he leapt into the air, beating his wings furiously to gain altitude. He could still hear her harsh, broken sobs as she finally screamed the words that he needed to hear: "Fine then! Abandon me! Don't look back!"

Anger. Anger was so much better than grief. He granted that last request, blocking out the sound of her screams and sobs as he strained his wings to get away as fast as possible. And he never looked back.

AN: Okay, so Selendrile is redeemed, but I still feel miserable even just writing about him leaving Alys . . . I'll just go look at Dragon's Blood now to cheer me up, maybe finally edit all those grammatical errors. Please take the time to review! Cookies and/or criticism are greatly appreciated!

UPDATE: There is now a third installment, and the fourth will be coming soon! Find the sequel, Don't Dream, on my profile.