we'll live the rest of our lives, but not together
#1
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Time had passed again. How much of it, he wasn't sure, but again, he found that he felt like a ghost: a shadow amongst the living, unseen by most, and easy to disregard. It was exactly what he wanted, that quiet loneliness that came in the late hours of night when the sky was dark and the world was silent. There was solitude in the forest, and he knew Iskata had been right when she had called him a hermit; he no longer had any real desire to be with other people. Inevitably, everyone that bothered with him made him feel guilty. It was his fault more than theirs, of course, but when they were there, he usually wanted nothing more than for them to forget about him, for them to be happy elsewhere, for them to be with other people that could give back to them everything that they gave away so freely. He just wasn't capable (he never really had been). It wasn't fair to them.


He had made his way back to the cottage somehow after days of wandering, or weeks, more likely. It was funny how quickly his subconscious seemed to chose a home for him. His conscious still did not consider it to be so, but he understood that it was the closest thing he had. Others had passed by in his long absence, some scents he recognized, others he didn't. He didn't think much about them, and it was only in passing that he considered that it would probably be easy for him to be found there if he stayed too long. He wanted to believe that people could forget about him. He wanted to believe that if he stayed away long enough, that he could forget about himself. If he stayed away from voices and reasons to remember, then he could disappear for real, into some absent voice where he could hurt no one, and no one could hurt him.


The scarred man had grown thin. He could no longer hunt and had not invested any time in training his other senses to make up for the hole left by his blindless. Instead, he had scavenged what he could, fending off crows from other people's kills. It wasn't that hard; it wasn't that bad. It was more his own disinterest and self-neglect that had allowed his frame to grow more gaunt than anything else. He didn't care. It was early morning and he hadn't slept. The house was quiet. He sat at the kitchen table and looked out the window where he knew a tree was growing so there wasn't anything to see anyway.


Everything was empty.

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#2
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Her first thoughts had been the very thing that she had been dreading. It was his sickness that seemed so suddenly fond of her, accepting of her, not him. He'd gathered enough strength to drag himself from the shack and run away from her because he didn't want her anymore again. It was a scenerio that she had kept locked in the back of her mind the whole, the fact that he might suddenly get better and forget about her or, even worse, regret the things that he had said to her. The bed was empty when she had arrived, it was cold to the touch and told her that he had been gone for some time. She wanted to believe it was her fault, that she hadn't been around often and it had worried him and made him go look for her. Something told her that wasn't likely though.


It had been a few days since her initial notice of his absence, she'd spent her time peeking in randomly, hoping he might return. The only thing that had changed was the other one, Jasper, he was suddenly up and gone also. It wasn't until that morning that she decided to go, it wouldn't be hard to track him, and she could always leave him if her thoughts were true. If he didn't want her again then she would go and not turn back, despite how much it would kill her to do so. She'd been happy there with him, talking to him and taking care of him, feeling as if he actually wanted her there, she couldn't give it up so easily, not without knowing for sure.


It had taken her two days to find exactly where he was, a small cottage in the middle of the forest, which seemed almost odd to her. She could only ever remember him sleeping in a den for as long as she knew him, aside from being held inside the shack while he was sick. Fingers touched the door carefully, sliding down to rest on the knob. Rachias hesitated though, paused to think, and finally withdrew her hand. Frowning just slightly, she balled that same hand up in a fist and knocked quietly, it only seemed appropriate. "It's me." She called out, though not to loud. It was courtesy, she supposed, but in a way it was also and attempt to see if he did indeed remember her.

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#3
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It was not surprising, and perhaps it wasn't even surprising that he let it happen (over and over). He always did. People found him because he could never run far. He couldn't cross an ocean like so many he'd met way back when, in those days he couldn't remember. He wouldn't climb a mountain anymore. He wouldn't lose himself in one direction without turning back. He couldn't walk that long. He couldn't walk that far. Instead, Laruku would find a quiet, shady place. He would sit and he would forget about time because things were pleasant when there was quiet and shade and an emptiness before him. In that forgotten time, others would move, and he would stay still, and then, they would find him. He let it happen.


He didn't have to answer, of course. Let her believe that he was not there, though she would undoubtedly check to make sure. Let her believe that he had gone deaf and mute too, maybe, but she would stay with him anyway. She was too kind. Where had she gotten that kindness from? Not from him. Not from her mother. You can come in, he said quietly, and his voice felt rough and foreign because he hadn't used it in weeks. The birds would sing to him, but he wouldn't look up. Laruku turned from the blocked window and propped his elbows on the table, glancing sideways half-heartedly in the direction the door was. Would she ask to stay? Would she ask for him to go with her somewhere? Would she say goodbye? He stopped wondering; he'd know in a moment.

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#4
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It was a tense moment for her, waiting there at the door. Would he remember and answer? Had he forgotten? She tried to keep the thoughts from her mind, to push them far back and tell herself that she had done a good job taking care of him, even though she had done nothing to actually help him get better. Knowing that he was alive and simply didn't want anything to do with her was better than him being dead, wasn't it? The words that came almost made her jump, as if she was expecting nothing but silence. She heeded them quickly though, placing her hand back on the knob to let herself in. It was quaint little place, from what she could tell at first glance, and in some odd way she felt like it fit him. It was most certainly his home, had been before he ever got sick. "I wasn't sure if you'd remember." She told him honestly, quiet. Rachias didn't feel the need to further explain, she as certain he would know what she meant.


The girl took a moment to examine the cottage, it felt warm and smothering all at the same time, like it was odd for her to be visiting him in such a place, despite the fact that their visits had been confined to a shack for so long. She turned to him finally, making her way carefully across the floor, only to fix her gaze on his, or what she might expect to be his. They didn't look right, his eyes, still as if he were sick. Frowning to herself, she said nothing for the time and instead seated herself at the table. "I just wanted to check on you." She said finally, resting her arms on the table and crossing them over one another. "You can't see well, can you?" The question came, full of worry and possibly of fright. Perhaps it was Ahren, in some odd way, that was the cause of her kindness.

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#5
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Laruku did not forget. He only pretended to, but oftentimes, it was good enough of an illusion that even he didn't realize. Still, the idea that Rachias thought he would forget about her was a little startling; he didn't know why she would think that, but of course, he had never been particularly good at reading or understanding others. I wouldn't forget about you, he reassured her in the same voice: quiet, scratchy. It was the opposite, he wanted. The hybrid would never forget about his children, as unwanted as they had been, and as scattered as they had become, but he wished they would forget about him, the same as he wanted everyone else to forget about him. The pack had moved on; he imagined that many of them still figured he was dead. That was what he'd prefer. He wanted Rachias to forget about him; he wanted Iskata to forget; he wanted Ahren to forget. They would find their own peace. And he would find his. Or at least, he would pretend to and eventually convince himself of it.


I'm fine, he said simply, shrugging a bit. He closed his eyes. I can't see anything, he told her truthfully, But I'm fine. Laruku saw a world of white, of fog thicker than the worst Clouded Tears had ever offered. Sometimes, there were grey shapes, but they did not correspond with objects in the real world, and he had come to ignore them -- they were nothing, just images his mind fed to him because it was not used to the absence. With his eyes closed, he could imagine his daughter sitting there with him. He could imagine the sunlight trying to break through the tree to reach his window. He could imagine the kitchen in all its neglect and disrepair. He could imagine that he was sitting in a different house in a different place, and it would feel very much the same, but he tried not to imagine that last part too often. How are you?

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#6
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"Well, not really me." She said quietly, unsure how to explain. "I mean, I was taking care of you and everything, that's all. Maybe you would've forgotten that I was back." She avoided her own questions, the curious pull that tugged at her. How could she ask him if he remember calling her a good girl? Telling her was proud of her, that he loved her? She couldn't do it, even if only she wanted to pretend that there wasn't a chance in the world that he didn't mean all of it. "How will you feed yourself?" Rachias asked him quietly, quickly, just another way to avoid what she had brought up in the first place. She didn't mean to sound as if she didn't think he could fend for himself, just that it would probably be extremely hard to do so. "I could help you, if you like, bring you some things now and then." Of course, he probably knew she would anyways, even if he said no.


"It's been a little hard lately, actually." She finally admitted, turning her head sideways to watch him. Had the news gotten around? He kept himself away from others so much that she doubted it and at the rate they seemed to be going, he would never know unless she told him. After a few moments of silence she spoke up, leading her words off with a quiet sigh. "Andre was killed." It wouldn't make much of a difference to him though, would it? He had been the one to hate their father the most. "He did something bad so Gabriel and a few others from Inferni killed him. I buried him out on the beach." She paused a moment, would he be sad if she had died? "It's been a while since then though, things have been getting better." Much better. "I found him." Just like she told everyone she would. "I found Arkham. He's alive."

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#7
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Even before the sickness, Laruku's perception of time had become poor and his short-term memory scattered, so it was no surprise that the month or so he had spent at Esper Hollow could not be recalled in a crystal clear image. The divide between the hybrid's subconsciousness and his consciousness was wholly intentional, but he held a lot of things as truth without realizing it. He cared; he had always cared, and he would likely continue to care too much until the day he died, but that didn't mean he often acknowledge it to himself. That he loved his children was one of those things he didn't often think about because if he pondered the subject too long or too hard, the fact that he had not really been the who to conceive them came back to him. Rachias was his daughter, but he was not her father. It was a troublesome arrangement.


You don't need to worry about me, he said passively, There are enough abandoned kills sitting around that it doesn't matter, and I'll get used to this eventually. Could a blind man hunt? Theoretically. If he tried hard enough, perhaps. If he took the time to memorize the area, to know where every tree and fallen log was, perhaps. If he trained his other senses and adapted to his condition, perhaps. If he cared enough about himself to bother, perhaps. But in the end, it was easier to scavange. There was no pride left to hurt, anyway. Rachias would come regardless, he knew, but maybe eventually she would tire of his never-changing antics and give up on him. There were more useful things she could be doing with her time.


Laruku was not surprised that Andrezej had been killed. Indeed, he had considered killing the boy himself that day because he had seen and known that he would have only been destined for horrible things. He didn't know how close Andre had been to either of his siblings, if at all, but Rachias at least sounded like his death upset her. I don't know why he turned out the way he did. You and Arkham are both sweet kids, he said quietly. Of course, he'd properly met both of his sons but once, but the impressions he'd gotten stayed with him. He didn't remember when he'd been told that Arkham had been left behind in the fire, but he was glad that somehow, his other son was still all right. He spared a slight smile. That's good. At least you've got some family left then. And of course, he was thinking that maybe she'd be able to get on without him now.

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#8
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"He said he might come see you sometime." The girl told him with a smile, leaving little thought to the words that she spoke. She knew he didn't like company, it had been made apparent by his words and actions when he had been sick. He didn't want his friends to see him, didn't want the visitors that she had claimed would come and celebrate that he was well. No one had come though, not even she had known that he was well again, but she supposed that it was better that way. "And I'll come see you now and then." She smiled again and continued on. "I won't be far if you need me." She wondered if he would realize what her words really meant, that she wouldn't beg and plead to stay with him like she had when she was younger. Maybe now he would need her a little bit, just like she needed him.


"I think it was everything." She said finally, settling back into the chair. "Mom left and Gabriel drilling into our heads that wolves are bad, even though we're partly wolf. It even made him hate us." Rachias frowned some then but left the rest to be considered quietly. No one besides Andre himself truly knew why he had turned out like that and it suddenly didn't matter, they would never have a chance to know. Finally, after a few quiet moment, Rachias leaned forward in the chair some, scooting her arms out across the table. "Why do you seem so sad all the time?" It was the question of a lifetime, something she probably wouldn't be able to understand even if he told her, but she needed to ask.

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#9
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If there was anything Laruku had to say to his remaining son, it was that he should take care of himself and his sister, that they should stay out of trouble, and that they should get out of this wicked valley while they had the chance, and that they should find their happiness elsewhere. He wasn't sure that he had ever met anyone from their homeland that had ever been happy for any substantial amount of time. Every bit of love anyone could share was fleeting, and every joyous occasion only gave way to a tragedy of a higher magnitude. Every birth was coupled with rape or death. Every mateship was eventually marred by cheating and mistrust. It had never been just Clouded Tears's curse; everyone in Bleeding Souls, and consequently, 'Souls, had suffered the same fate. No one had ever died happy, and that wasn't about to change any time soon.


But all he said was Okay, because children could only learn on their own, and because he understood that pushing Rachias away now would only hurt her more. Laruku was far from trusting himself to be completely safe, but even the monster that lurked in the back of his mind was at a disadvantage now. Their body was still the same, and so they were blind, and blind men could do little to cause a threat. Gabriel has his reasons, I guess, he said, though there was no real conviction in his voice (was there ever, really anymore?). The hybrid did not much remember the incident back in the shack, but even though for the most part, he believed that Ahren's son had good intentions, it was hard to discard the belief that he was crazy. His parents had been crazy, after all. Then again, so had the parents of the girl across the table from him.


I'm not sad, the scarred man told his daughter, and he, at least, believed that it was true. After all, what did he really have to be sad about anymore? Everything had been wrong for years already -- long enough for "wrong" to become the status quo. Deep down, Laruku was still terrified of what he was capable of, and perhaps he was still heartbroken and fragile, but he didn't think so much about those things anymore. Concentrating on nothing meant that there was nothing particularly upsetting in his day-to-day existence, and so, what was there to be sad about? Existing was only existing. It was not good; it was not bad. It was not torturous; it was not enjoyable. It was just there. He was just there. I'm fine, he repeated, Just tired. Always tired.

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#10
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It had been a question on the edge of her mind since the very moment that Arkham had asked her about it. It was important, even more so than the comments he made beforehand, so she kept her attention on his answer to that particular question. It had been her brother that had made her aware of this, the fact that he seemed sad. Sure, she had seen it, but there was something inside her that had never really recognized it as sadness. It was just him, just like he always was. Perhaps she had been around him far to long to realize that it was sadness and that it wasn't just a part of who he was. The answer brought a very faint frown to her lips and, though she knew he couldn't see it, she still tried to hide it.


"You should rest then." She said finally, nodding her head at her own words as if the action would magically make it a good idea. Somehow she didn't think tired was meant as actually tired, though. "Even Arkham asked me if you were still sad." And she supposed that was saying something. She knew that they had never really spent time together, she couldn't recall that they had even met each other besides the one time that her brother tried to warn her about him. If he could remember from that long ago and, as far as she knew, their father hadn't changed much. Saying it was okay didn't make it the truth.


"Jasper is better now also." She told him finally, unable to accuse her father of lying to her, to yell and smack her hands on the table and tell him that she knew he was sad. He'd been the same way ever since she could remember, since she was tiny, and that had to mean that it had gone on since before she was born. Maybe they weren't the cause of his sadness. "Do I have any other family?" It seemed an innocent question and one that she was truly curious about, but it could potentially lead to the cause of his sadness. "Anyone else related to you, I mean?"

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#11
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He supposed what he was doing now could be considered resting. There in the isolated forest, he had no responsibilities (except for being hospitable to your daughter, right?) and no obligations. There were no relationships he had to maintain or pretend to maintain. He didn't have to think if he didn't want to. He didn't have to do anything at all. He was resting his fractured mind, his broken heart, the leftover fragments of his soul. Except that those things never really rested because they were always there; as much as he liked to believe he could, he couldn't carve those tired pieces out of himself and set them down somewhere to rest. He was still using them -- perhaps not as much anymore, but he was still using them.


Laruku was touched in a way, by the sincerity that both Rachias and Arkham seemed to offer him. They seemed so good-hearted and pure, and he couldn't help but continue thinking that maybe they weren't his children after all. Or perhaps kindness skipped a generation and they had inherited it from his mother. Of course, he could wish that he wasn't the way he was, that he were gentler and more careful; he could wish that he had tried harder, but all of those sentiments had long since lost their meaning. The hybrid did not wish anymore; things just were. He didn't try to change anymore because that hadn't worked. He didn't try to get better because that term couldn't be defined.


They're distant relatives, he said after a while. The blind man had never considered himself part of the Sadira clan, after all, but he supposed that if Rachias could find kinship among them, then all the better. My mother's brother was Ceres's mate. Ceres was the alphess of Clouded Tears before me. They had five children together; Iskata's the only one that's still around. She's a leader of Phoenix Valley. She has some kids running around, I guess -- some of them are your age. The rest of Iskata's litter had some kids too. Some of them might be around, I don't know. He didn't think about most of what he said; they were just information files that he had stored away because he had written a history book once. I've never really felt like they were my family though. It had always been obvious, but he'd never really told anyone either. His mother had never been close to her brother anyway, so maybe the connection didn't count.

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#12
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"Phoenix Valley." She tested the name, noting the familiarity that seemed to come with it. She'd heard about it before, that it was somewhere around these lands, but she had never really seen anyone from there, but it wasn't as if she had really gone looking either. "Maybe I'll go see her sometime?" The words came out more as a question than anything, left unsure by the words that had followed his explanation of her distant family. Was there a reason that she didn't feel like family to him? Somehow, Rachias doubted that, because she hadn't even felt like family to her father for quite a long time, as far as she was aware. Maybe she could change things though, maybe she could be the link between their family and her father, even if it only meant telling him how everyone was doing.


There were a few quiet moments after that, depressing almost, and Rachias gave a quiet sigh into the air. Did he sit here like this all day just staring at nothing? When it got to quiet did he talk to himself to pass the time? It didn't seem like much of a life to live, but did it make him happy? Suddenly, and rather hesitantly, she leaned forward even more, extending an arm out and then a finger, to poke at him. "Dance with me." There was an odd childish tone to her voice, an encouraging and pleading voice. Maybe she could make him smile.

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#13
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If you want, was all he could say, shrugging. He had never really liked Iskata. He had hated her for a time, but that time and apathy had moved that to general indifference. He could tolerate her, but he wouldn't if he felt like he hadn't a choice. Laruku didn't know if Iskata even knew he had had a litter, but like so many other things, it simply didn't matter anymore. She would be shocked, perhaps, but she would get over it. Maybe she and Rachias would get along, maybe not. He didn't know and didn't think that mattered either.


Rachias's touch was a little bit startling, mostly because he had it ingrained in his head that the only reason anyone would have anymore to touch him was to kill him. He didn't deserve any other kind of touch. But he took her hand and stood because he had that one role to continue to pretend to be. He didn't have a pack to lead anymore, and so he didn't have to pretend to be a leader. But here was his daughter who wanted a father, so he had to do his best to fill a role he'd never really known. It was the only duty he had left, and though he didn't cling to it, the old obligation was still there. With one hand, he held hers, and with the other, he held her waist. His face might have softened, but it was as expressionless as ever. I've never danced anyone before, he told her, though he'd never danced alone either.


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#14
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This thread makes me a little teary-eyed. DX It also reminds me of that song "I hope you dance". x____x


It had been decided then, that she would go and seek out this distant family of hers. Even if her father wasn't so open to his daughter, perhaps not even still sure if he accepted her or not, she knew that he would at least tell her if he ideas of going to find this family of hers might be dangerous. Rachias had learned the hard way that, even if someone is family, doesn't automatically mean they are going to be nice or like you. It would have her curious for some time, wondering what her family might be like, if there might be more of them that not even her father knew about. It wasn't like he had ever gone out of his way to know them, or it seemed that way at least.


Those thoughts would be lost for a short time, beginning at the very moment that her father touched her hand. She smiled at him then, even if he couldn't see it, and slid from her chair to stand with him. There was silence as she moved, keeping her hand gently in his and sliding forward toward him, resting the other hand against his shoulder. "Me either, but we could learn together." She said finally, quietly, all happy smiles and threatening tears. Even if it were the last moment in their lives that they had been so aware and so close at the same time, it would be the moment that she always remembered.

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#15
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It was funny somehow, how many times Clouded Tears and Inferni had crossed paths in the past. They had waged more than one war, and they had bred more than one litter of misbegotten children. But it looked like Inferni was the victor in the end because the other no longer existed and in time, it would disappear from memories and words and there would be nothing left but the dirty script the hybrid had written in the yellowed pages of a journal stolen from a bookstore. Rachias moved and Laruku followed because it was all he could do; he had no senses to guide him but hers, and he trusted that. I have a book, he told her, a little bit out of the blue, I wrote all of Clouded Tears' history that I know. It was quite a substantial amount considering all that Ceres and Siondaite had told him; in any case, it was probably more than anyone else to say on the matter.


You can have it. I don't have anything else to add to it. The pages were formal and contained only what the hybrid had decided was relevant to overall history. Names, wars, births, deaths. He had been careful to leave out anything that was directly related to himself, particularly the real cause of the second war with Inferni, though in retrospect, it probably didn't matter. The world had a right to know just how terrible of a leader he had been. Rachias deserved to know, if that was what she wanted to know. It's on the mantle. Has a red cover.


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#16
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Dancing was much easier than she had expected it to be, though it may have had to do with the fact that she wasn't all that focused on it at all. He spoke and that immediately grabbed her attention, though her feet still moved and his still followed, somehow innately careful of one another. A book didn't seem like a big deal, he had always seemed the type that would rather sit and read in quiet, but one that had been written by him was something much more than she could have imagined. Had his seemingly uncaring nature just been a show all along? Had it been denial that he had actually cared? He must have felt something, to have written down their whole history.


"Are you sure?" She asked him quietly, moving her eyes along the walls and toward that mantle that had been spoken of, just long enough to spot the dusty red book. It seemed a silly question, what use would a blind man have for a book, but something that he had put time and effort into, a piece of himself into, certainly had to mean something to him. Here he was though, offering it to his only daughter, and she could only find words of uncertainty. Was she good enough to keep care of something so important? Did she mean enough to him that he would entrust it to her?

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#17
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Laruku had always cared far more than he wanted to about everything. Every person that chanced upon the borders, he had cared about, and every person that had inevitably left without saying a word, he had cared about. He had cared, and it had made him bitter. Every child his cousins would leave at his feet, and every subsequent child that ended up with too little love and too little to hold on to -- he had cared; it had made him bitter, and it had filled him with the guilt that still claimed him now. The hybrid had hated Clouded Tears for a time because it had been filled with people that had lied to him and that had abandoned him. It was funny that in time, he ended up being the one to lie to them, and the one to abandon them all in the end. The weight of the world was gone because he had tossed them to fire.


Yeah, he affirmed. The blind man had ended up loving Clouded Tears as much as he could have loved any place. Even now, so many months later, he could not call the new forest home, and he doubted he ever would. Maybe it'll make up for you not having spent that much time there. Laruku wanted to be forgotten in the grand scheme of things, and to some extent, he knew that his pack would be lost somewhere along the way too. But he liked to believe that its memory would live longer, and that people would have better things to say about it than that it had a shitty last leader. Maybe not all the words he'd written were positive in that regard, but it was better than leaving everything to decay in the minds of others. He didn't know how much Rachias had really liked living in Clouded Tears, if at all, but he really didn't have anyone else to give it to either.


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#18
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Fairy Tales had been her favorite with their mystical lands and odd creatures, books that she read alone, in the quiet of the night. Now she would have a new favorite, one that would mean more to her than any other possession that she ever had, which wasn't much in the first place. "Thank you." There was really nothing more that she could offer because not even words could express how much the gift meant to her, though she was certain he could hear it in her voice. Still they danced, but as Rachias thought more and more about the book, her steps became slower and slower until the point that she stood still, hand it hand with her father.


"Should I add more?" She asked quietly, finally breaking the silence. When had been the last time that he had written in the book? How much of the end of Clouded Tears' time had been added? Surely there was enough room for a tale about a Hero who may have only been so in his daughter's eyes. He had become much more than she could have ever imagined after her childhood with him, despite insisting that it would never happen. "I don't know how to be a father." He'd told her that once, back when she was much much smaller. They were false words now and, just like she had told him when she was younger, she still thought that he was doing just fine. "Thank you.." She repeated again, though the words had nothing to do with the gift given. Even she was old enough to understand that he had put himself aside to try and be what she had always wanted.

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#19
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Feels like an ending?


The original copy of the book had been lost in the fire, and the truth was that Laruku didn't really remember writing much of the second copy. He remembered going into the city to get an empty journal, but that was about it. He rarely thought about the past if he could help it, so of course conjuring up all the details he could about all the years of Clouded Tears's life -- even those years when he wasn't there -- was something he would pretend to forget if he could. He could recite memories without thinking about it if people prompted him to, so the authorship of the new book must have gone very much the same way. He had written with his eyes closed in some sense, but he could recite every scratchy word if he had to. If you want to. The story had ended with fire.


They stopped moving and Laruku found his arms around his daughter, who wasn't really a little girl anymore. The voice laughed, but he didn't care. She did not belong to Ryoujoku anymore, or Kaena. She had grown up with morals and a good heart and she would be fine. (She didn't need him anymore, and he was relieved.) He hugged her because he could, because he did care, and he did love her. Because he was proud of her, and because she was the only thing in his life that had turned out okay. It was disgustingly ironic, the way that had turned out, but it was only the end that mattered, wasn't it? Thank you, he answered decidedly.


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#20
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Yah, seems like a good ending to me.


"If you want to." He answered her then and she smiled. She did want to and she would. She would write about a man that very few were lucky to know, a man who was the reason that his daughter had grown up with such kindness in her heart when it was more likely that she should have grown up a killer. She had wanted nothing more than to show him that he could be a good daughter and that he could be a good father and, perhaps, she had raised herself in some way, but the way she raised herself was because of him. In some ways she even attributed her father to the way Arkham had turned out. Despite the fact that he had stayed in Inferni, that he had partially been raised by the band of Coyotes, he was still much different. Laruku might never know that Arkham had turned out the way that he had because of him, like Rachias thought he had, but she would make sure that someone else knew. She would make sure through a book that a father had trusted to his daughter.


There was silence in the air as his arms wrapped around her and she could only do the same in return, staying close and resting her head in the dip between his neck and shoulders. He spoke again and the young woman could only smile, shed and tear or two, and stay silent. It would have been the perfect moment for 'I love yous' but Rachias couldn't speak the words, she didn't feel the need to say them. He knew she loved him and, in that quiet moment that they stood together, Rachias knew without a doubt that he did love her also. She didn't need the reassurance of hearing the words like she had for so long, she could just feel it, and she would stay there in his arms for as long as he would have her.

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