The morning had turned bleaker, the rain pouring down in sheets, angling across the open fields to hammer against the exposed sides of the tiny hovel. Bartholemy pushed back the bedclothes and sat up, already shivering with cold. Beside him, the slight impression of where she had lain and he touched it and felt it was not warm. He looked around, suddenly afraid, expecting to see her beside the fire, or in the corner preparing beans. She was nowhere, the gaping emptiness of the room seeming to mock his fear as his stomach lurched. He stood up, not fully understanding why her absence brought with it such anxiety. Was her hold over him already so strong? It was true she possessed his every waking thought, his desire for her boundlessness, but this was something more. Separated, without a word
