They had been married only days before; a brief, simple ceremony, which should have been followed by the peaceful enjoyment of their home and each other, but in the face of war, their brief marriage seemed belittled.
‘You once said-’ she choked on the words, trying not to cry. ‘You said that . . . that we shouldn’t make any promises to each other . . . that life may or may not let us keep.’
He sat down, yearning to close the gap that had formed between them, wishing that he could fix things by simply saying the right thing, but the yawning gulf of separateness was unfordable and unyielding as the stiffness of her small back. ‘Yes, I did say those words.’
‘Rowf, I want you to promise me something anyway.’
They couldn’t hear, but they could both feel Theuli’s grief, where she lay on her bed down the hall. There was something fatal about the Elf woman’s loss of composure that had shaken Malina deeply.
‘Promise me you’re not going to die, Rowf.’
The shock of hearing those words from her left him momentarily speechless. Feeling as though he were physically foundering, like an inexpert swimmer dragged out to sea by the tide, he said the only words that came to mind. ‘Malina . . . you know I can’t promise you something like that.’ There was a strained silence between them as he tried to think of something further to say, but the words eluded his grasp. He wanted to say something like, ‘All I can do is try to stay alive, and hope that one day I’ll be able to come back to you.’ But it wasn’t enough. And it wasn’t what she needed to hear.