Ruth stayed quiet for a long moment, the only sound between them the faint crackle of burning tobacco as he took another slow drag. The sharp burn against his throat was grounding—something solid to hold onto when the rest of his world felt like it was crumbling beneath his feet. But even that wasn’t enough to drown out the ache creeping up his spine, or the deeper one lodged somewhere behind his ribs. Grief. Loss. Abandonment.
His mother’s death had left a wound too jagged, too deep to ever fully heal without compassion. And there had been none—not between them. Not after she was gone. They had retreated instead, two wolves nursing their own wounds in separate corners, snapping teeth at anyone who came too close. It was easier to push each other away, to pretend the hurt, the rejection both given and received, wasn’t there. Until now. Until this.
Because here he was—his father—sitting on a branch below him. Not delivering another cold lecture. Not turning away. Offering something Ruth never thought he’d get: a choice. A chance. And for all his sarcasm, for all his anger, it stung. To want it. To want his real respect.
Still, his suspicion held tight. Trust was a fragile thing, and his father had never given him much reason to extend it. The sharp flicker of irritation crossed his face at the mention of Megara’s meddling—because of course, of course, she had her hands in this. Always prying, always pushing for the greater good. Ruth couldn’t decide if it was loyalty or sheer stubbornness that kept her trying to knit together what had frayed apart years ago.
He snorted softly, shaking his head.
Kellam’s bluntness—the flat truth of his words—earned a short, bitter laugh from Ruth. He tipped his head back against the trunk, eyes slipping shut for a heartbeat before opening again.
But the truth was, things were going to be different. Had to be. A sober life stretched out ahead of him—bare and raw, with no numbing edges to blur the things he didn’t want to feel. He had to cut out the disease with his own hands and battle it every day if he wanted to stay alive. The choice was his. And fuck, it already sucked.
He waved a vague hand, as if to dismiss the concern.
He let the memory slip away on the next exhale, unwilling to hold it too close.
For all his pride, Ruth wasn’t too stubborn to admit what his body already knew—he wasn’t as steady as he wanted to be. But if his father was offering a hand, for once, maybe he’d take it. At least for a short distance.
@Kellam Yoesif
His mother’s death had left a wound too jagged, too deep to ever fully heal without compassion. And there had been none—not between them. Not after she was gone. They had retreated instead, two wolves nursing their own wounds in separate corners, snapping teeth at anyone who came too close. It was easier to push each other away, to pretend the hurt, the rejection both given and received, wasn’t there. Until now. Until this.
Because here he was—his father—sitting on a branch below him. Not delivering another cold lecture. Not turning away. Offering something Ruth never thought he’d get: a choice. A chance. And for all his sarcasm, for all his anger, it stung. To want it. To want his real respect.
Still, his suspicion held tight. Trust was a fragile thing, and his father had never given him much reason to extend it. The sharp flicker of irritation crossed his face at the mention of Megara’s meddling—because of course, of course, she had her hands in this. Always prying, always pushing for the greater good. Ruth couldn’t decide if it was loyalty or sheer stubbornness that kept her trying to knit together what had frayed apart years ago.
He snorted softly, shaking his head.
Trust me, she’s batshit. You’ve had months, I’ve had decades of nagging from that Marches elf.The words were dry, laced with that familiar bite—but under it was something else. Something begrudging. Because Meg was also right, ninety-nine percent of the time. Especially when it came to family, to bonds, to living the kind of life neither he nor Kellam seemed to know how to grasp without it slipping through their fingers.
Still. Reckon she rivals the Chantry Wifie on how impressive she handles messes. If you’re gonna be an unbearable bastard, she’ll tell you so, nicely. Then beat it into us over and over again until we learn or try to kill her, and trust me. You don’t want to fuck with that woman.
Kellam’s bluntness—the flat truth of his words—earned a short, bitter laugh from Ruth. He tipped his head back against the trunk, eyes slipping shut for a heartbeat before opening again.
I think that’s the first time we’ve ever agreed on anything…His lips curled into something too sharp to be called a smile.
You sure whatever demon you’ve got isn’t at the wheel?It was easier to lean on humor, to let his mouth run instead of admitting how much the honesty got under his skin. How much it mattered.
But the truth was, things were going to be different. Had to be. A sober life stretched out ahead of him—bare and raw, with no numbing edges to blur the things he didn’t want to feel. He had to cut out the disease with his own hands and battle it every day if he wanted to stay alive. The choice was his. And fuck, it already sucked.
It already sucks that I can’t drink and do lyrium,Ruth grumbled, the words half-muttered as he took another deliberate, slow inhale. A small act of what little defiance he had left.
You can’t allow me one vice? Besides my own mouth? My handsome good looks?He savored the smoke like it was a luxury, holding onto it just a little longer before exhaling in a long, measured breath. His jaw ticked slightly as he leaned further into the branch, every muscle aching from the strain of climbing up here in the first place.
He waved a vague hand, as if to dismiss the concern.
I’m not going to fall out of the tree because of smoking while recovering. I haven’t fallen out of one since…The words cut off, but the weight behind them lingered in the air. He didn’t need to finish the sentence—didn’t need to say that the last time he’d fallen had been after Amara died. That night, Ruth had climbed higher than he should’ve. Hoping—maybe—that the sky could swallow him whole. It didn’t. It never did.
He let the memory slip away on the next exhale, unwilling to hold it too close.
But fine.His voice was quieter now, resignation curling at the edges.
After this, I’ll go back to bed. I just…A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.
Might need some assistance on the walk back.
For all his pride, Ruth wasn’t too stubborn to admit what his body already knew—he wasn’t as steady as he wanted to be. But if his father was offering a hand, for once, maybe he’d take it. At least for a short distance.
@Kellam Yoesif
02-27-2025, 03:06 PM
