It was comforting, knowing that Ros did not blame him for what had happened. It was his mother after all - he had spent time with her just before all of it went down, why hadn’t he known? He had been agonizing over that question since that day, feeling it eat away at him even as he looked for distractions elsewhere. The belief that he could have done something to stop it, to save all those lives, was an idea that he just could not shake. Not only Hototo but everyone that lost a family member or friend because his mother wanted to restore “balance” to Helovia. He was comforted by her words, even though they could not erase all of the guilt.

More confessions came pouring out, they’ve started something and there does not seem to be any way to stop it. Moments ago they were both laughing so hard but now everything is somber and he can see that her eyes are swimming with tears but he can’t do anything to fix that - he can’t even stop his own. They might joke about how Roskuld was an awful sister but she was awful in a way that they could laugh about afterward - not awful in a way that made him run away from home. There was such a glaring distinction between the word sister when applied to the mare before him now and the children of d’Artagnan. “I forget most of the time, or I’d like to forget. You and Ophelia… you guys gave me a real family.” When Ros had tried to headbutt him the first day she had ever been born, and all of the other little-sister things she had ever done since, he did not feel as though he was an adoptive brother. They were siblings - the fact that he had been born into another family, raised by them for a time, did not make them any more real than the little one he got to have with Ophelia and Ros.

And they shared something else - the bond of having to deal with being the child of a powerful God.

He felt the sting of pressure in his nose, silver eyes glossy with tears rainwater as he listened to her accept him as her ‘bro’. What else could he ever want than to hear that? The reassurance that he was good at being a brother. If nothing else, at least he could pull off that role. Maybe he would never be great at being a demigod, or a son, or a crafter, or a warrior, or anything else but if Ros thought he was doing an okay job at being a brother - he was doing alright. “I do love you, Ros. No matter how many times you try to skewer me with your horn or whatever we get into next.” Mesec did not think they would ever be given the luxury of even an easy season here or there because there was always something else lurking in the shadows waiting to come out. “And if you think I’m doing it right, I can live with that.” There was a smile again, growing slowly though his eyes still shone - but maybe that had less to do with the tears and more to do with the company.

“I joined a herd recently. I wanted… wanted a home again.” While they were getting out confessions, though this one was significantly less heavy than the others. He didn’t want to always be an outcast and wondered if Roskuld ever felt like that too. “Feels kind of weird but good, you know? Normal, which our lives could use.”

@[Roskuld]


I’m trying to find my direction home, ______________
A question of space, a matter of time, _______
I follow the stars until the first light.