It was certainly a shock to know the identity of the one that wanted to hurt Nairn. It didn't make any sense... Nairn was the best thing to ever happen to the Coterie, as far as Haulean was concerned. Maybe he was a little biased. But really, even without knowing their blood ties, he'd felt that way. So why was someone after him? He'd have to unpack that later, and not pester Nairn with asking stupid questions like 'how do you know'? and 'why?' because... well now really wasn't the time, plus he trusted the older male implicitly. If he said someone was after him, they were.
The letter-readings were an emotional whirlwind for little Haulean. At times he wept hard, others he was borderline lulled asleep with just the barest trickle of tears. Under less distressing circumstances, Haulean might've been a bit sheepish at the hard documentation of literally every time he'd snuck out of the Coterie to visit her over the years. Nairn maaaaaaay or may not have been aware of a good few of those visits.
However. The more recent the letters got in his mother's timeline, the harder it was to contain himself. She'd known she was going to die, and had kept it from him. She'd been making preparations for quite some time. So yes, by the end, the boy was once again utterly distraught, however much he tried to reel it in. Even after Nairn had stopped reading, he clung and wept into his chest, until his name was spoken, and he was bade to count.
This would not have been the first time they had done something like this, and Haulean trusted in the process... and of course, in... his father. Obediently, the boy began to count along with him, as best as his ragged and broken breaths would allow. Then came the breathing. No protests came from Haulean. He continued to obey, as he cuddled into Nairn and rested his cheek against his chest, as he had so many times before. In.... out... in... out... Over time, he settled down. And boy did his head ache. But he took solace in the warmth of Nairn's lap, and the sound of his voice and heart. Some might've found the sound of the latter unsettling, but it long since become a sound of comfort to the boy.
He'd even fallen back on an old habit of idly toying with a stray lock of Nairn's hair... gently curling it around his finger, playing his thumb over the silken coil for a bit, and unwinding it to just lightly run it through his fingers, always careful not to tug. Over and over, without even thinking about it. There had been times in the past when he might've started braiding it, but not tonight. He hadn't the steadiness or dexterity for it, nor the mindset. Tonight he just wanted the familiar contact.
The letter-readings were an emotional whirlwind for little Haulean. At times he wept hard, others he was borderline lulled asleep with just the barest trickle of tears. Under less distressing circumstances, Haulean might've been a bit sheepish at the hard documentation of literally every time he'd snuck out of the Coterie to visit her over the years. Nairn maaaaaaay or may not have been aware of a good few of those visits.
However. The more recent the letters got in his mother's timeline, the harder it was to contain himself. She'd known she was going to die, and had kept it from him. She'd been making preparations for quite some time. So yes, by the end, the boy was once again utterly distraught, however much he tried to reel it in. Even after Nairn had stopped reading, he clung and wept into his chest, until his name was spoken, and he was bade to count.
This would not have been the first time they had done something like this, and Haulean trusted in the process... and of course, in... his father. Obediently, the boy began to count along with him, as best as his ragged and broken breaths would allow. Then came the breathing. No protests came from Haulean. He continued to obey, as he cuddled into Nairn and rested his cheek against his chest, as he had so many times before. In.... out... in... out... Over time, he settled down. And boy did his head ache. But he took solace in the warmth of Nairn's lap, and the sound of his voice and heart. Some might've found the sound of the latter unsettling, but it long since become a sound of comfort to the boy.
He'd even fallen back on an old habit of idly toying with a stray lock of Nairn's hair... gently curling it around his finger, playing his thumb over the silken coil for a bit, and unwinding it to just lightly run it through his fingers, always careful not to tug. Over and over, without even thinking about it. There had been times in the past when he might've started braiding it, but not tonight. He hadn't the steadiness or dexterity for it, nor the mindset. Tonight he just wanted the familiar contact.
05-14-2024, 09:46 AM
