The field appeared darker than in his recollection, and this despite the brightness of the two suns in the sky. But Desmond cared not for the swaying of the grass, he was in this dream for one reason alone.
A lone figure stood staring off in the distance, the white tunic and leggings so familiar to him. How many times had he peeled them from her body?
And even took her while she wore them a few times.
"Erela." Desmond spoke her name softly, yet he might as well have shouted it given how her body stiffened before she turned.
Her expression lacked a warm welcome, a reminder of the change between them. No more did she run into Desmond's arms with a smile and a kiss. Anger flashed in her gaze.
Not love.
He ignored the pang of disappointment. He wasn't here to give in to emotion and lament about the past. He couldn't fix it, and Erela had made it clear that things were over.