It is the sound of his hooves which makes me move my eyes away from the behemoth in bronze, a cadence that draws to mind the cool, somber darkness of a cavern in midnight, a cave which stands opposite the snow laden vale from where I now stand in the shadows of my father’s creations.  I look away from the crimson glare of the sentinel’s mask, and I find that the bronze gaze that lingers on me is one that is as familiar as the gleam of the metal guardian, or the thought of my mother’s resting place.

We stare at one another a long while, my sire and I, the familiar and confused face of Kirchoff appearing at his side.  An odd pulling grows in my stomach that seems to tie my heart into its clutches, my muscles tightening and my crown lifting in what feels like elation and terror all knitting together into one catastrophic, inner fissure. The fear that he would have forgotten me instantaneously dissolves into the deeper worry that he is upset with me.

I don’t know what to make of the strange silence, or the stranger expression which crosses his normally unreadable face.  I perceive too many emotions to draw a full conclusion as to what he feels, and it makes me feel very young and inexperienced again, as if I had not grown at all since I had left in search of my dam.  

Unbidden, my eyes begin to burn in the corners, a slow sway given to the tufted tail which has lingered behind me, still until now.  One ear slips back slowly as I take a single step forward, my golden eyes searching his face for any sign that he is not angry with me, and that I can come home.

"Dad…" I begin, looking away at the last moment from his stare, "I…"

The sound of his grunt fills my ears just before he embraces me, strange warmth flickering to life in what had been the terribly clenched confines of my heart, and with a breath of relief and happiness I sink my own neck across his shoulders, leaning into the strength that, once, had been the greatest I could imagine.  All the worry that he was angry with me slips from my mind, and instead I am filled with the quiet peace that comes from knowing that, no matter my failings or successes, I will have a home here, wherever my father and family is.

I don’t know how long we linger in unspoken gladness, but after some while we are parted and I can look again at him, this man who seems less magnanimous than I remember him, now that we stand nearly even in height, and yet no less admirable; still, he is the same, though perhaps more haggard, a strange melancholy to him that had not been there when I last watched him tinker on his creations and mechanisms, though, for once, he is the one cleaner and better groomed than myself.

I notice the contradiction with a smile, though I do not bother explaining what I find so amusing.  

"You’ve been busy, I see," I say, looking over at the twin sentinel, feeling awkward now that we’re again left to looking at one another, and not quite wanting to talk about anything more serious than his machines, perhaps the weather.

My voice is much deeper than he will remember it, taking after him again in this aspect with its fullness.