The Springborn

CALDER

A s the wagon bears us home, I hate Sabella’s father so much that my innards feel like they contain an overflowing bowl of lava. He is a monster. I should have punched him. I would have if Sabella had permitted it.

Her tears do not last for more than a mile or two, but I half wish they would have kept falling. It is worse to see her storing up the pain for later, staring into the distance with that blank look on her face.

I swear by all that’s holy that I will love her hard enough to make up for all the love that despicable man and his cold wife never gave her. There is nothing in heaven or on earth that will stop me.