The wizard got to his feet. "Young man, I can't possibly think of a worse way to learn about responsibility. I can't advise you in this matter. I can't intervene. I can't help. If I didn't know better, I'd say this incident has the stink of treachery, for it is too much of a coincidence that this would happen while I was away." He put his hand on Anest's shoulder. "Are you sure this is what you want to do? I could attempt some sort of-"
"No."
Belloc gave Anest a long, measuring look. "Very well," he said at last, when he had assured himself that the boy was resolute, "It is done, then." He left, and for the second time, Anest was alone with the sylph.
Rising, he moved towards her. He regretted his decision immediately as she cried out and cowered away from him. Instinctively, he knelt, trying to adopt a posture that would indicate to her that his presence was not threatening. Slowly, carefully, he reached his hand out to her. She recoiled from him, but she did not try to flee. Shaking with fear, sobbing, she allowed him to touch her face with something like fatality, or defeat.
At his first touch, she started, though not entirely from fear. She seemed baffled, as though there was something . . . in him? . . . that she should recognize? Her eyes lost some of their glaze of fear. She allowed him to draw her to her feet and lead her to the well, although she moved as though something fundamental within her was broken. He drew a bucket of water and began to clean away the mud and grime that clung to her like shame. And he was able, for the first time, to regard her as she might have looked without his crime to blight her existence. Though bereft of her spring, she still carried within her an eldritch presence that belied a potential for magic that defied his comprehension. He noticed for the first time her eyes, pale gold iris' with a hint of green. Even her hair, which was palest blond, possessed an eldritch hint of green.