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Kellam’s lips pressed into a tight line as he gazed up at Ruth, his son’s nonchalant tone tugging at emotions he wasn’t ready to name. The casual dismissal, the way Ruth leaned against the trunk as though Kellam’s presence was as inconsequential as a passing breeze—it all stoked the embers of frustration simmering just beneath his skin. But there was also something else, something raw and jagged, hidden beneath Ruth’s words. It was a knife’s edge Kellam recognized because he had carried it himself once.

For a moment, he hesitated, debating whether to let the boy—*no, the man*—see how the sharpness of his tongue cut deeper than he likely intended. Instead, he rolled his shoulders, forcing the tension in his body to disperse. Ruth wasn’t wrong. There *was* something familiar about this, wasn’t there? The boy in the tree, always just out of reach. The man in the tree, trying to be even further away.

With a quiet sigh, Kellam stepped closer to the trunk, his voice calm but laced with just enough steel to remind Ruth who he was. It seems some things never change, do they? He hesitated, the idea of climbing up into a tree just to talk to the son who probably, didn’t want to talk to him, seemed silly, and the demon in him bristled at the idea, but then Kellam thought about Meg.

So he began climbing, his movements deliberate and steady, though there was a slight stiffness to his stride. It had been years since he’d done something like this—his pride would’ve scoffed at the very idea—but Ruth had always been a stubborn creature. When he reached the branch below Ruth’s perch, Kellam settled in with surprising ease, one arm draped over the trunk for balance as his boots found their place.

For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the soft chirp of a bird nearby. Kellam studied Ruth, his sharp features softened only slightly by the dappled sunlight breaking through the canopy.

You look like her, he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost wistful. Your mother. Every time I see you, it’s like a slap to the face, you know that? He let out a low chuckle, devoid of humor. I’ve never been good at this... at us. And Maker knows I’ve given you plenty of reasons to keep climbing higher. But here I am. So, what now? A moment of vulnerability despite what the demon inside him wanted to say or do.

@Ruth Yoesif