Kellam exhaled slowly, watching Ruth’s careful descent with a scrutinizing gaze. He didn’t offer a hand—not because he wouldn’t have, but because he knew better. Ruth’s pride was a fragile, stubborn thing, and Kellam wasn’t about to be the one to snap it in half. Instead, he shifted against the bark, waiting until his son’s boots hit the dirt before making his own move.
He could have stayed in the tree, let Ruth walk off alone. That was what the old Kellam would have done—watched from a distance, let his son take his steps without interference, let the gap between them stretch until it swallowed them whole again. But Megara’s voice still rang in his head, and more than that, his own damn conscience—something he wasn’t used to listening to, but had been growing louder as of late.
So, with a slow, deliberate movement, he climbed down. Unlike Ruth, he didn’t hesitate or tremble—his body might have been aging, but it was still honed from years of discipline, of battle, of carrying weight most men would crumble under. When his boots hit the ground, he rolled his shoulders, casting a sidelong glance at Ruth, who had already begun walking.
Kellam fell into step beside him, neither leading nor lagging. Just walking.
For a while, they walked in silence. The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering smoke. The kind of quiet Kellam had spent years finding comfort in—solitude that didn’t demand anything from him. But this wasn’t solitude. This was something else. Something he wasn’t quite sure how to name yet.
He didn’t look at Ruth as he spoke, his gaze fixed ahead, but his voice was unwavering.
A pause, heavy with unspoken things.
The admission sat between them like a stone in the road. Kellam didn’t elaborate, didn’t soften the edges of his words. He let them be what they were—raw, unpolished, true. Ruth might not understand it now, might scoff or brush it off, but one day, he would. And that was enough.
The entrance to the recovery wing loomed ahead, the dim glow of lanterns spilling onto the dirt path. Kellam slowed his pace, glancing sideways at his son.
@Ruth Yoesif
He could have stayed in the tree, let Ruth walk off alone. That was what the old Kellam would have done—watched from a distance, let his son take his steps without interference, let the gap between them stretch until it swallowed them whole again. But Megara’s voice still rang in his head, and more than that, his own damn conscience—something he wasn’t used to listening to, but had been growing louder as of late.
So, with a slow, deliberate movement, he climbed down. Unlike Ruth, he didn’t hesitate or tremble—his body might have been aging, but it was still honed from years of discipline, of battle, of carrying weight most men would crumble under. When his boots hit the ground, he rolled his shoulders, casting a sidelong glance at Ruth, who had already begun walking.
Kellam fell into step beside him, neither leading nor lagging. Just walking.
You’re slow,he remarked, voice edged with dry amusement.
All that smoking and moping has finally caught up to you.
For a while, they walked in silence. The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering smoke. The kind of quiet Kellam had spent years finding comfort in—solitude that didn’t demand anything from him. But this wasn’t solitude. This was something else. Something he wasn’t quite sure how to name yet.
You think you proved me right.The words came suddenly, as if they had been simmering beneath his ribs for too long.
That you’re some lost cause, some disappointment. That I looked at you and saw something lacking.
He didn’t look at Ruth as he spoke, his gaze fixed ahead, but his voice was unwavering.
That was never it.
A pause, heavy with unspoken things.
I saw myself.
The admission sat between them like a stone in the road. Kellam didn’t elaborate, didn’t soften the edges of his words. He let them be what they were—raw, unpolished, true. Ruth might not understand it now, might scoff or brush it off, but one day, he would. And that was enough.
The entrance to the recovery wing loomed ahead, the dim glow of lanterns spilling onto the dirt path. Kellam slowed his pace, glancing sideways at his son.
@Ruth Yoesif
03-13-2025, 07:11 AM
