53. Hatred
Weeping, I pull my knees to my chest and place my hood over my face to hide my tears. They have rarely seen me cry before, so, though the odds that anyone will enter my tent are low, I find myself hiding. If they found me, they would not understand: they still think tears are for grief only, not anger. Anger: that unflagging fury residing in one's chest, directed toward another, yes, but mostly toward oneself.
I am such a fool to think Tyelkormo ever cared for me! If he loved me, how could he have left me like this? Leaving, but not only that, burning the ships that were his only way back to me. The answer is far too simple: he did not love me.
And I do not love him, not any longer. How could I? He is a traitor, leading me on and then abandoning me when I need him most.
I find the hot, angry tears streaming down my face because I cannot decide which I hate more: my feelings or his actions.
