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Sometimes, it seemed that his feelings were rather forced, and that they were only that way because he was stubborn. He would not be like his brothers, and he drew often on his childhood apathy for this. So many things simply did not matter, and did not affect the immediacy of the moment, nor the foreseeable future. What did it matter to him the reasons that had led to his mother's abandonment all those years ago? His youth had not suffered much for it. Clearly she regretted it, or at least felt guilty about it, and the grown man could not find any want to hurt her more. Kharma forgave, but he did not forget. The distance would always remain, though the truth was that Kaena had no more contributed to it than the half-sisters he had only known briefly. It was the men of the family, all mad in their own ways.
Gabriel, Samael, and Andrezej had all done unspeakable things. He did not the doubt that the others had too. He would not be like them. That was all.
The cloaked figure nodded. "That is all I ask, that they know I'll have gone home." His daughters had always been independent and headstrong. He knew that they must have craved adventure after spending their early lives standing still. Perhaps they had taken the opportunity to find it after the storm, and finding their lonely father and their missing mother had lowered in priority. He would not blame them for that. For now, he was certain enough that they were alive, and that they would visit, at least, when they were ready. They were good girls, and he believed in them. Rachias was a wanderer too, it seemed, but Kharma had always been more like his father in this regard.
It was was uncomfortable, seeing the sadness and quiet desperation in the woman's one eye, and to hear it in her careful voice. It was uncomfortable, too, the emptiness he felt in response, even if he felt he had willed it there. "I will be visiting Andrezej," he told her, "And my father as well -- probably spending the night near where his cabin had been." He imagined the collapsed wood had all rotted by now, and perhaps there was nothing left to mark the place, not even bones. He had wanted to bury him -- Rachias would have, certainly -- but the fire had still been burning then, and then he had turned his back on Gabriel, and he couldn't have gone back after that.
He was silent a moment, then closed his eyes and shrugged off his hood. "It's okay," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "I don't blame you for anything. But I'm sorry." He looked briefly into her yellow eye -- the same yellow his brother's had been, the same as Gabriel's -- and dipped into another bow. "I don't belong here."
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