She sings back to him, letting the memory fade away into the back of her mind, 
Warm, dry hands wrap around her waist, pulling her closer into an embrace.
She feels his cheek rest against her damp curls, the bright red color of her hair fitting just right against his pale skin.
Every time, Sally wonders how he managed to capture the beauty of the moon, and the shine of the sun. 
"Sally, how have you been?" He asks, looking down at her with twinkling eyes.
Every night, it's the first question to be spoken between them. And every night, Wilbur would laugh as he said it, like it was an inside joke no-one else but them could understand.
And Sally would answer with a chuckle, telling him of the songs she'd sing with her kind. Of the drowned souls plaguing her river. Or of the occasional human she could spot.
And Wilbur would tell her about his; about how his nation would soon be free, how they would live in peace until the end of days. Though, sometimes while hearing him talk of his human world, Sally wondered how many of his own words he truly believed.
But regardless of that, every night, they would laugh, and sing and dance. Revelling in each other's company.
Wilbur, whose eye bags Sally would politely ignore, and Sally, whose killing nature Wilbur would feign ignorance off.
Yet tonight was different.
Unlike usual, he didn't launch into another excited ramble of the future after Sally asked how things were, but rather sent her a strained sort of smile.
They sat together on the log, Wilbur rubbing circles on Sally's deathly cold hands as he mumbles a reply.
"I'm... alright. Dream-he's been acting up lately." 
His smile twitches, "Knowing our next moves. Our plans."
Sally stared at his hands, so soft and pale next to her light pink ones. A long time ago, she'd compared him to the shells she found on her river floor. Beautiful, sharp and sturdy. 
But with one perfect hit, they'd shatter.
And the shells she loves the most, the ones she always held dearest, are always empty. 
She prays that she will never love Wilbur that much.
"How does he know?"  She hums, interrupting her train of thought.
"I don't know." The trees rustle with a faint gust of wind as Wilbur turns his head slightly to the right, "I think there's someone helping-," His jaws clamp shut, an audible click striking the air.
He shakes his head, "No. No, there isn't." He asserts, though his voice lacks the certainty that's always carried within his words.
Sally stares at him, and he avoids her eyes.
Suddenly, he stands up, taking her hand with his. A smile works its way onto his face, "Let's forget about our problems, shall we? Just for a night."
Sally knows he is avoiding her question, but still takes up his offer, resting her hand on his shoulder. Slowly, he twirls her around. 
They weave around the clearing, Wilbur humming a gruff and quiet song, but one that still holds the faint taste of honeybuns.