Ruthivan sat on his knees, clutching Claire's body to his chest. He rocked and sobbed, then growled and cursed. He punched her dead body repeatedly, ignorant of all the eyes that watched him commit his desecration. His entire camp now stood around him, their circle excluding Mirin's form, until at last he let Claire roll from his arms onto the ground.
He was numb, he felt his soul severed. She was dead, truly dead, and he knew it because the bond he kept alive through his force was gone. For all that he tried to do to keep her, in the end, Claire had escaped him the only way she had. And he was the one that had set her free.
He got to his feet and stared at Mirin for a long moment, then looked to the healer. "Get that out of here. Put her outside the camp."
"Yes, Elder Ruthivan."
He looked to the faces that stared back at him with open shock and turned on his heel, leaving them behind. He had nothing to say as his heart was crushed beneath its own weight. The children rushed forward, but stopped at the look on his face, and Ruthivan's stared at them as alien and apart.
"Your mother is dead," he said, his voice steel and gravel. They cried, they wailed, and Ruthivan walked into the bedroom he shared with Claire, shutting them out and leaving them with the help. He sat on the edge of the bed and an agonizing howl sprung from his stomach, not stopping until he had expelled every last mote of air from his lungs. Then, Ruthivan broke down. His sobs were heard by every esper in the camp as they filed by the tent, and every one was a repentance for every wrong he had ever heaped upon Claire.
