Two stubborn eyes, sealed in a coat of moisture, unpinned me from my pride in one short moment.

There was the grating of teeth; scarlet mud and soiled sweat. Thick blood.  I shrank into remorse as I eyed Graysen; my fists had betrayed all I knew to be right, once again.

"Ree!" The long- legged boy gripped his side with an unspoken cry, scraping his chin into the ground.  Why had my mother given me such a name? It was so sharp, so harrowing.  Pronouncing an agony I never imagined to provoke, the boy finally amounted to a lopsided stand, nevertheless looking down upon me. Swelling with confusion, I noticed no anger in his eyes. I had given him a fistful, and he gave me nothing. No fight, no harsh words.

Whispers of disapproval scampered through our surroundings, and my chest swelled in the heat of the moment. A fickle crowd had seen it their duty to analyse the situation, offering no pity, and gloating over their ingenious, yet unwanted commentary.

"What was that for, Ree?" Graysen's voice betrayed his usual resistance to emotion.

My forehead thudded with a dreadful pulse, as I contemplated the exact answer to his innocent question. Thick fog clouded any reason left in me, and I knew but one thing: I had to run. Mother had always told me that was what I did best.

What had happened? I didn't hate Graysen as others would rightly suppose I did.

In a childish way, Graysen gnawed at my nerves, but in a million other ways-- if I had ever loved anyone, it was him.

His blood on my knuckles would be a reassurance, despite, that he would never know such a thing.