Kellam strode down the stone hallway toward the infirmary, his footsteps echoing off the cold walls. The tightness in his chest hadn't let up since the moment he’d gotten word that his son was there. But the frustration mounted as he tried to get clear answers; every healer he passed murmured vague reassurances or averted their gaze, leaving him empty-handed and sour.
A part of him wanted to turn back. How many years had he told himself that his son was no longer his concern? And yet, here he was, because Megara had suggested it—no, urged him to try to reconcile with the boy. “Boy.” *He must stop thinking of him like that*, he reminded himself. They hadn’t spoken in so long that the distance between them had grown into something harsh, bitter, and cold. But Megara was right. It wasn’t just his own life and decisions he was upending with this bitterness. If he wanted peace—however distant that goal seemed—he knew he had to try.
When he finally reached the infirmary's low-lit interior, he scanned the room, letting his eyes adjust to the mixture of lamplight and late-afternoon shadows. He didn’t see Ruth within the infirmary, with a slight eye roll he ventured out into the gardens, perhaps his son had wandered out there. He noticed someone up in a tree and assumed it was probably his son.
A few steps in his direction and the similarities struck him hard. He hadn't expected to see his mother’s features so clearly. The resemblance opened up an ache he thought he’d long buried, a reminder of the grief he kept under the surface, held steady only by sheer will. The rage demon within him bristled to the surface, but Kellam took a deep breath and did his best to quell it.
Caught in the sharp grip of memory, Kellam stopped short of the tree, feeling suddenly out of place. He reached up, adjusting his collar, his fingers clumsy with the unfamiliar discomfort. Clearing his throat softly, he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, he stood awkwardly, shuffling his feet, his gaze shifting from the floor to Ruth and back again, unsure how to begin.
@Ruth Yoesif
A part of him wanted to turn back. How many years had he told himself that his son was no longer his concern? And yet, here he was, because Megara had suggested it—no, urged him to try to reconcile with the boy. “Boy.” *He must stop thinking of him like that*, he reminded himself. They hadn’t spoken in so long that the distance between them had grown into something harsh, bitter, and cold. But Megara was right. It wasn’t just his own life and decisions he was upending with this bitterness. If he wanted peace—however distant that goal seemed—he knew he had to try.
When he finally reached the infirmary's low-lit interior, he scanned the room, letting his eyes adjust to the mixture of lamplight and late-afternoon shadows. He didn’t see Ruth within the infirmary, with a slight eye roll he ventured out into the gardens, perhaps his son had wandered out there. He noticed someone up in a tree and assumed it was probably his son.
A few steps in his direction and the similarities struck him hard. He hadn't expected to see his mother’s features so clearly. The resemblance opened up an ache he thought he’d long buried, a reminder of the grief he kept under the surface, held steady only by sheer will. The rage demon within him bristled to the surface, but Kellam took a deep breath and did his best to quell it.
Caught in the sharp grip of memory, Kellam stopped short of the tree, feeling suddenly out of place. He reached up, adjusting his collar, his fingers clumsy with the unfamiliar discomfort. Clearing his throat softly, he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, he stood awkwardly, shuffling his feet, his gaze shifting from the floor to Ruth and back again, unsure how to begin.
@Ruth Yoesif
11-15-2024, 05:53 PM
