The moment she saw Fakir running in, calling Mytho's name, Kraehe fought the urge to pull him to her, and fly away before anyone else could do anything. But no, that would just make things worse. There was no way she would win this battle, not tonight, not tomorrow, perhaps not ever. It was as hopeless as the witch had said.

Slowly, she stepped away from Mytho. Sending him one last look, filled with resentment and pain and love all at once, she sent a whirlwind of feathers around her, and flew away.