**Do you wish it was his hair?**
Greenweave froze, hand tangled in Honey's thick hair. Honey thought that he was not so much surprised by the question as cornered by it.
"No..." he said reluctantly.
**Send it, then.**
**I love you.** In sending, there was only truth, and this was the truth. He loved Honey; the thickness of her hair and the smiles that softened her eyes. The way she looked with little Goldfinch in her arms. He loved the way she always had a gentle, soothing touch for anyone in need. He loved her, and could not have asked for a greater gift than the child they had made.
But sometimes, sending was a little too much truth. There was no way to keep the little bits of other things from falling in, not with soulnames to strip them bare, one to another. He missed the joy of being with Cloudfern, and his mist of soft hair – he couldn't help but compare them.
**You could be with him, instead,** she offered, cruelly, and she hated that she was shallow enough to do so. She wanted to force the decision – make him stay because she knew he would admit he had to. She loved him every inch as much as he loved her, but she loved the tainted taste of his guilt just as much. She was the wronged party. She was utterly safe because of it.
**I won't leave you,** Greenweave promised, and he meant it all the way to the part of him that was Arn. Their place in the pack was together, in his simple mind.
Unimaginative, Honey thought. He was sweet, and even clever, but Greenweave simply wasn't that creative.
She gave, and let him finish weaving flowers into her hair.