Page 165 of Into the Heartless Wood
grass.
Through storm and heat and trees I see Pren’s face: his piercing eyes, his mossy beard.
His voice echoes in my mind:To become wholly as you are, you must give up the thing you hold most dear.
I stare at Owen,
alive
but
dying
in my arms.
My heart beats within my chest.
But it is too late.
My human form is gone.
I cannot get it back again.
You must give up the thing you hold most dear.
“Owen.” His name chokes out of me. The Eater’s spell is waning.
His eyes focus on mine.
Somehow he has the strength
to raise his hand
to cup my cheek,
to smooth his fingers along the ridges of my skin.
I tell him: “I am sorry about your mother. I am sorry about everything. I wanted to be more than a monster. I tried to choose. But I was not strong enough to fight her. I was not strong enough—”
“You have always been strong.” His voice is thin and weak. His bright soul fades bit by bit.
He is dying and dying, and
it
is
all
my
fault.
My tears drown me.
I wonder if the roaring I hear is outside of me,
or if it merely
