//------------------------------//
// XVII 
// Story: Wayfarer 
// by The Plebeian 
//------------------------------//

Mere moments pass. So she has seen it, and now she has heard it. He is turned to her now, stooped low as if in some unbearable shame. His head is humbled, eyes cast to the ground, with their weary twin streams abating. The wind still buffets his black mane, though it stretches out forward, now, to her. She is stiff, from shock perhaps. Her mouth is open a bit, as if to speak, but no resonance is found there. A mix of confusion and conflict are painted over her face. Her eyes have grown softer, now, but no less afraid for him. The sun shines regardless. Noon, it marks, casting their shadows straight down.

So it is for her that he does this. It is out of love he must deny himself, deny her. She thinks him so strong, so carefree. She has not considered her actions to be anything but her own choice, not forced by his state. He cares so much, she thinks, but yet he knows not how to care. She only needs one care, the care that stays with her, that brightens her life in ways she cannot imagine or paint alone. He has broken her heart, but out of its remains rises a new heart, one that she likes far more. She realizes he is vulnerable, much like her. She has something to give, now. From the depths of this new heart, she realizes it is not for independence one loves, but for completion. She can complete him, she thinks. She needs only to decide. She imagines lives beyond this scene, to watch those sunsets alone, to paint alone, to fear, to cry, to rejoice alone. 

She can see the shadows now, but they are separate, shattered on the ground with her heart. There is no longer the void to fear, but a light to look up to. No longer can darkness remove her from him. She can see beyond, horizons and sunsets to share, smiles to give. She feels the feather caught in her mane. She likes it there, she decides. Out of love, he means to leave, and out of love she refuses to let him. Love must sacrifice both ways. Then, it is no longer a sacrifice, but a gift. No art can amount to him, for no single picture can capture what he has done, no bold strokes or vague outlines. No color she has seen can match his coat. 

All for him, she declares within herself. Yet, her body is still caught in shock. Speak, she wills. He waits every moment, fears for every moment she stays still. She wills herself forward, to the future she has seen. She must be for him, as he is for her. His heart is broken, and so she moves to mend, her grace prepared, a plentitude he simply cannot imagine. He must never have known such grace, to find it his weakness. She will show him the happiness that he gives her, become the savior he is.

He waits restlessly. He should not have asked. It is too much to ask of anyone. He fears he has broken her, and wonders if she can recover. It is cruel, to take her so far. He cannot be hers, for he has nothing to give. He wishes to say something, anything to heal her this moment. He must not leave her guilty of him. He must not destroy her art, or he is worse than nothing. It must be fear on her face, fear to be ensnared with him. 

Please say no. He wishes only to leave her no more scarred, no more to think of him. Just let her be. She can go farther without him. He sees it in every painting, the love she has for the world. She must go alone, or she will suffer with him, and her art will be lost. Please say no, so that he may go on, wander in his broken tempo, alone. Say no so that she may live on, and become something wonderful, something he can never touch again. 

It is hard for him to let go. It is all he can do to keep from breaking himself. He struggles against a storm of his mind, a swirling, confused torrent. He cannot look into her eyes. It will only hurt the both of them more. He has imagined this would be difficult, but he could not have prepared himself for such a riot of emotion. Stand firm, he thinks, do not let her attach. The more she tries to pull him back, the more it will hurt both of them. 

He should not have asked, for one answer he can no longer accept. He can feel her gaze. It must be desperate, and that hurts him further. He is every bit despicable. Return her to the world, he demands himself. Let her be free of him. He wonders what could have been, the happiness he could have. Not for him, for her, so he breaks himself away. 

He thinks of what she will be without him. Someone finds her, that loves her art. She is a rising star, her brush strokes grow stronger without him. She is her own. She is great without his oppressive travelling, his lack of roots. Her work is praised, and she lives her life in splendor, never to hear the name of the cruel wayfarer again. He loves her the same, to see her bloom. Let her go, fly away to a better life for her. She needs not his bounds. Though it hurts them both, he must be strong enough to leave. He remembers the warm glow, the lovely sunset, the moonlight meeting, and the tears threaten to return. For her, alone, not him. For her life, and not his love. What will she answer? Is he prepared for the pain to come? No, but it comes regardless.

She sees him. She knows how to save his heart.