Even though he'd literally just been thinking he might be better off letting her leave and seeking out assistance elsewhere, he still felt a sharp pang of regret when she actually turned to go. It was illogical, because there was no way he could explain anything to her when he still didn't know what was going on himself. No way that she would believe him even if he did find words to explain. No way he ought to be talking to her about it anyway, given their history and how they'd left things. Even if he did explain and she did believe him, she probably wouldn't want to talk to him. He hadn't even known that she was back in the country. She'd come back to the country and not even told him, through owl or anything. She didn't want to patch things up and pick up where they'd left off. He didn't want that, either — he'd told Zelda things were over, during the blizzard, and he'd meant that. Still: the pang of regret when she turned to go.

"Wait," he said, already cursing himself for the word before it had even fully left his mouth. He hesitated, but there was no way to take the word back now that it had hit the air. "Hell," he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight. These clothes were all nicer than what he typically wore, and uncomfortable, and all buttoned straight up to try and keep out as much sun as possible, and suddenly they felt stifling and oppressively stiff. He let out a huff of breath. "I knew your name because I know you," he admitted. "But I — this is a whole situation and I can't really explain."

---

The following 1 user Likes J. Alfred Darrow's post:1 user Likes J. Alfred Darrow's post
   Jupiter Smith