KALLE
Kalle was torn.
She stood, mouth open and arms at her sides, on the other side of the bed from where Gahrye was pushing shirts into a bag. He muttered to himself about Elia and how to manage this, but Kalle just stood there and drank in his wide shoulders and strong arms, the V shape of his body as it plunged toward his leathers.
She didn't want him to go. More, she inwardly battled the very idea. She felt nauseous at the images in her mind of saying goodbye. And raging angry. She wanted to stamp her feet and scream at him that it wasn't fair! It wasn't his job! He was her Mate!
But she loved the Anima, too. Without them, she wouldn't have him. Was there any more bittersweet feeling than being desperate to keep these people alive and thriving, and knowing that to do so would mean breaking her own heart?
