☾ ღ Callum

[Painted Moose]

ღ ☾Stage 2 Solo 2 ☾ ღ

There shouldn't have been as much dread in his steps as there was when Callum crossed into Jauhar. The rainforest, so full of flora and fauna, held no fascination for him as it had when he was younger. He held out a hand to touch a passing crystal formation, his fingers skittering along the smooth surface before trailing off.

Life was so much different here than in Sauti. One could survive even in isolation due to the amount of nutrients there could be found in the canopies above.Such a thing wouldn't have been possible in Sauti, and perhaps that was why Callum liked it best. Back home everyone needed each other to survive, whether they liked it or not. You were forced to move from one area to another just to keep food in your belly so the world never stagnated around you. He liked it better there. As far as Callum was concerned he was Wind through and through, but as long as she lived he would always have ties to Jauhar.

"...place is a lot bigger than I remember." He murmured. Callum brushed his sweat slicked hair away from his neck, remembering now exactly why he had always preferred updos here. While Sol may have been the closest settlement to Tale, it was also where the trees were thinnest, which allowed him a better view of the sky. Faulina stayed close to him, despite his insistence that she could go where she pleased. There was an element about her that seemed almost clingy, which eventually wore him down. Callum settled for carrying the overgrown hatchling and she, in turn, kept his mind from worrying about darker things. Slender hands stroked orchid feathers, smoothing them down in a repetitive pattern that kept him sane.

At the very least the residents of Sol remembered him. A few friendly faces waved as he passed, and one asked about his travels. The vast majority were friends of his grandmother's, and while Callum didn't mind the chat, he knew they were just playing nice as a favor to her. Maybe one or two were sincere, but there was always a tell tale quirk to their smiles that shone through their velvet lies. If he wasn't so charismatic, would they still speak to him? Had he been born less visually attractive, would they still look at him? Or would they shun his very presence?

At one time in his life any attention was considered good attention. Callum had been desperate for some proof of his existence, someone to acknowledge him, since the day he was born. The affections of others were a good balm for that ache, but as he grew he was beginning to realize that it didn't help. His soul still felt empty, his world was still spiraling around him, and like the wind, he had no true place to call home.

Jauhar held nothing, but empty promises.

Sauti, his beloved Sauti, was unlivable for him due to his mother.

So...where did that leave him?

He padded closer to a familiar tree, and it was then that Faulina took flight. She made her way upward, following the route that the vine crafted ladders took. Callum followed her. He was less confident about climbing than he ever had been in his life, but somehow he managed to get up to her level. The dwelling was a small building with a thatched roof. Inside were three rooms that he could remember very well, and the door...the door was opening for him.

And in the doorway stood Corine.

She seemed just as speechless as her grandson. The woman looked more exhausted than when he had left her, which worried Callum a great deal. There were circles under her eyes, and a frailness about her that reminded him of her growing age. For every year he grew stronger she became weaker, and one day, there would be no Corine to visit.

Her hair was cut to a shorter, more manageable length and it made the thinning strands look fuller. And when she smiled Callum could see the beauty that must have driven his grandfather wild.

"Callum!" Corine pulled her grandson close, and swamped him with love. If she wasn't crying or fussing over him she was placing grandma kisses on his forehead. "Oh baby, I thought something had happened to you..." All of a sudden she smacked him upside the head, causing him to cry out and look at her stern face. There were tears still falling, but she was trying to look fierce. "Don't you ever disappear on me like that again, do you hear me?"

"I'm sorry, gran. I would have written to you, but I-"

"Yes yes, I know you can't write, dear. Still, would it have hurt to pay someone to do it for you? Hmm?" She pulled him back to her, this time allowing him to stand at his full height. Corine placed her head against his chest, basking in the warmth that was her living, healthy grandson. "I'm so glad you're home."

Home.

If only she knew. Jauhar was no home to Callum, nor was he likely to stay nearly as long as she wanted. But Corine...she would always be home for him. To Callum, 'home' wasn't a place so much as it was a person. Someone to ground you, and care for you. Corine could be critical and judgmental, but at least she was constant. She'd taken him in when no one else would, which made him want to hold onto her forever.

"You should come inside; Faulina's already there. Pushy thing barged her way through my window. 's what I get for airing the place out." She clucked her tongue, gave him another squeeze and looked up into his eyes. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, gran." It was hard not to cry, especially when all he could see was the open emotions Corine kept displaying. She took him by the hand into her house, and for once, he knew he was 'home'.

(WC: 1016)  

[Painted Moose]

ღ ☾Stage 2 Class Quest Solo☾ ღ

Callum stretched out atop his sleeping pallet, one arm behind his head and fresh moonlight streaming in through the open window. His entire body seemed to glow underneath the moon's gentle caress, but he paid it little mind. The young swordsman was currently focused on something of a gold persuasion, mind lost to it's allure.

His fingers ghosted over the amulet whose weight bore down on his chest. He toyed with the edges of the stone, slipping down to outline it's thicker golden frame before lifting the bit of jewelry to examine it. The physical weight wasn't nearly as burdensome as the emotional strain it put on him. In Oba Callum had seen freed slaves who still carried marks of ownership. Some had tattoos, others scars or burns. A few even had pieces of jewelry, collars, to keep them in line. It hadn't occurred to him how trapped he really was until he'd heard them speak of the 'reminders'. They talked about how even after being dismissed they would never truly be free because of the 'marks' they bore. Callum could sympathize; so long as he wore this amulet he was bound to his father like a slave to their master.

He maneuvered himself into a sitting position, and held the amulet in the palm of his left hand. Callum could still feel the pull of the chain around his neck, rubbing up against old scars in an irritating sort of way. He had never complained about the aggravation of it, however; why bother when no one else would understand. They would just tell him to take it off, find a lighter necklace if he wanted one so badly. No one other than Nyah could have possibly understood what it felt like to be bound by a piece of jewelry, and even she was lost to him forever.

"I thought you were still awake." A soft, amused sort of voice caught his attention. Callum looked up to see Corine making her way into his room to sit in a chair he kept near the window.

"How did you know?"

"It was too quiet. You move around a lot in your sleep, and sometimes you talk." She crossed her feet at the ankle, and despite what aches she must have felt, sat straighter in the chair than any Callum had ever seen. Corine carried herself with a quiet sort of dignity; the kind that was born from years of trudging through darkness by sheer grit. She motioned to the amulet he was holding. "Don't you ever take it off? How can you sleep with that thing?"

"You would be surprised." He murmured. Ever since his father had placed it around his neck Callum had yet to remove it. The necklace was all he had left. With each year his memories were fading, and he'd long since forgotten what the man's voice sounded like. Tariel was a ghost to Callum; a figure who had only appeared in spurts and always carried a foreboding sense of doom with him. He had promised to return one day, but that had been many, many years ago.

"You don't look like yourself."

"Hmm?" Callum turned to his grandmother, and noted that she was looking at him critically. It made him uncomfortable, but curious. "What do you mean?"

"You look...lighter? I don't know how to describe it. I've noticed a change in you ever since you've been home. There's still a lot going on in that head of yours, but when you talked about your travels you looked genuinely happy."

Happy? Him? Callum had to think on it, but in his heart it was obvious why he'd been so happy. There was no denying the levity he'd experienced when around Nimueh. They had ventured across Sauti together for far longer than he'd originally intended, and while the connection had scared Callum...it also gave him hope.

Hope that maybe, for once, someone wouldn't abandon him.

Hope that he could be loved.

And when he looked at the amulet all he saw were empty promises. Tariel might as well have disappeared off the face of Tendaji for all the good he'd done. Callum had long since grieved for a connection that had never been, but now...he was tired of waiting. Nyah wasn't there to help him look for answers and Corine had given up on finding her step-son when he'd left his child at her feet.

His hands shook as he pulled the amulet over his head. Callum held the heavy pendant while his slender hands pulled his braid free from the chain. For the first time in years he didn't feel the weight of his father's lies on his chest, and it felt amazing. In his heart he was still a frightened boy, looking for affection when there was none, but that boy was growing. And now, it was time to step out of his fears in order to truly live.

"Gran, can you get rid of this? I...I don't want to see it again." Callum's voice shook, his vision blurring some with tears. Here was the last bit of hope he'd held of ever seeing his father again, of ever getting closure, and he was handing it over. Though, now that he had been shown how much he could be cared for, Callum knew that amulet couldn't save him. It was a dead dream, a broken promise, and something worth throwing away.

Corine took it from his hands, and looked at the jewel in the moonlight. It was a precious thing, easily worth it's weight in coin, but she planned on having it destroyed. Tariel had made his life's choices, and now it was time for Callum to do the same.

"Do you think he would be proud of me? Of what I've become?"

He'd ducked his head, hiding his now crying face away from her. Even to this day he felt ashamed for showing any emotion other than happiness. It seemed that no matter how many times he was told that he wasn't some doll he was keen on ignoring it. One step at a time. "I can't tell you what that man thinks, but I'm proud of you. Dancer, swordsman, Jauhar, Sauti; it doesn't matter where you go or what you do so long as I know your soul is truly alive." When she held her arms open he moved into them, and embraced his Gran for all he was worth.

"Then why do I feel so guilty?"

"Guilty? For what, doing what you want?" Corine snorted, and turned his head so she could look into his eyes. "Callum, everyone worries about being a disappointment to their parents, but we can't let that rule us. Sometimes you have to step away to follow your own path. You should never feel guilty for being you."

He gave her a smile then; a tear stained, truly genuine smile. "...do you think you could cut my hair? I think I'm ready to get rid of it."

Now that truly surprised her. Corine remembered trying to cut his hair when he was young, and having him throw a fit on her. "Mama said it was pretty!" Laiyera had been cruel to her son, even crueler in her emotional abuse than Tariel's abandonment, but that one positive comment had stuck with him. Somehow he'd always reasoned to her that it made him more desirable, and easier to like. She'd thought it was ridiculous, but now...

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. If I'm leaving the amulet behind, then there isn't much reason to keep my hair, is there?"

Corine shook her head. "I suppose not. Wait here, and I'll go get my shears."

Callum leaned back so that his grandmother could get out of the chair. When she'd vacated the room he got up to sit in it, running his fingers over his braid in a passive way for the last time. "You can't own me anymore," He murmured. His parents had long since been vacant from his life, and yet their scars still remained.

Even if he was abused again, or abandoned, Callum wanted the chance to make real connections. He'd run away from Nimueh before because he was too terrified to even contemplate the possibility of happiness. But he wanted it; he wanted it so desperately it hurt! A real family; a real life. He already had friends, so many good friends who stuck by him, and now...now he wasn't going to let his fears stop him from going after a higher prize.

So what if Nimueh never reciprocated his feelings? He'd already spurned him once, so it was doubtful the younger hybrid even cared, but he could at least ensure Nim's happiness. He could be a friend, someone to rely on, and hopefully Nim would be the same for him. Maybe some day he would feel ready to share about the amulet, about his hair, and about his life. He didn't want to let that opportunity slip away just because of his ghosts.

To hell with Tariel, and to hell with Laiyera. He hoped they were alive and well, but Callum could have cared less about seeing either one ever again. His birth family had let him down, but the 'family' he chose accepted him for who he was. They encouraged him, indulged him, and pushed him to grow.

And Callum loved them all for it.

(Callum's father abandoned him, and his emotionally abusive mother has no idea who he is, due to amnesia. Until this point in his life he's survived, but never truly lived. For years he's done everything he could to make the people around him as happy and loved as possible while sacrificing pieces of himself along the way.

This solo is meant to reflect a change in Callum. While he won't do a complete 360, I wanted him to realize that it's okay to say 'no' and to be selfish. He's letting go of the hope that his father will return, and chasing after the dreams he wants. I wanted him to let go of some of the shackles around his heart, mainly the ones that remained from his parents, and feel free enough to chase happiness. And maybe, just maybe, he'll learn that not everyone will abandon him.)

(WC: 1569)
 

[Painted Moose]

ღ ☾Stage 3 Solo 1☾ ღ

Visiting Zidel offered Callum an opportunity that the smaller villages didn't. Although he had met with many on the way to the capital city, very few, if any, had possessed the skills he needed.

So it came to be that late into the evening on a particularly blustery day Callum strode into a courier's shop. The thick wooden door scraped against the stone flooring, marking it with a curved, scratched line. He cringed as the sound assaulted his ears, and hesitated in the doorway. The shop itself was an open, airy space lined wall to wall with shelves. Each shelf held something, parcels if he were to guess, but it was the man behind the desk that Callum sought. A few younger icelings milled about behind him; arguing over shipments, shuffling packs around the small space, and finally leaving the room all together. They disappeared into the back, where Callum assumed there was either more storage or a rear entrance.

"Can I help you?"

The gnarled quality to the man's voice made it quite obvious just how long he'd been smoking the pipe settled betwixt his fingers. An acrid smoke made Callum's eyes burn, though he held enough grace not to comment on it. He only hoped the scent wouldn't stay with his clothing. "Yes. I've heard that you carry messages as well as items?"

He nodded and slipped his pipe up to his lips. The offending object was ornately engraved with designs of mammu and snow flakes. Callum might have called it beautiful, if not for the smoked rolling out of it.

The courier nestled the tip of his pipe between his teeth, and reached for a sheet of pressed parchment. "The farther it goes, the more it costs. Keep that in mind." His fingers popped in quick succession before he reached for his quill. "Now, who are you wanting to send this too, where, and what will it say?"

"It needs to go to Sol, Jauhar. To an older shifter by the name of Corine." The man gave him an appraising eye, as if he didn't quite figure Callum had the coin to send a message that far, but he pressed on.

The swordsman spun a tale so grand one might have thought him a bard. He spoke of his journey across Tale, through Sauti and into Zena atop the back of his untrained kinfa. Naturally Callum left out the bits about how she had all, but dropped him in the snow upon arrival, and how he had almost caught hypothermia. The story went on to speak of how he had reunited with a dear friend, how beloved lover, whom he hoped she would meet in the near future. Callum thought himself crafty with his vague mentions of Nimueh; it would no doubt drive Corine crazy with curiosity, which would keep her doddering old mind sharp.

He spoke of Zena's landscape, the flora, the fauna, and all of the earthlings he had met along the way. Callum told her about seeing creatures from Yael as well as entering the city that held the Grand Council. It still shocked him, even today, at how well built it all was. Compared to a life spent in tents and trees the sight of solid, wooden doorways and paved streets was something of a novel experience for him. He spoke of the plethora of wind and ice hybrids, of how it was just common place here. Few spared him a passing glance, and the few that stopped did so only because of how he presented himself, not his odd features. It was...wonderful, to say the least. While he knew the significance of that would be lost on her, he couldn't help adding it. To him it was almost a religious pilgrimage of sorts. Although he never addressed it in full detail, Callum had always been a religious sort of man, and fervently thanked whichever Gods that had been watching over him for the fortuitous turns in his life.

Several times the courier had been forced to urge Callum to slow down or he would never get the details right. He obliged easily, although he always seemed to relapse. It was hard not to be excited when recounting all of his adventures! The good ones, anyway, not the ones that would worry her. Callum wanted this letter to be absolutely perfect to the point where Corine wouldn't worry over him, and would instead feel a sense of pride. Granted, if he had known his letters then he could have written to her himself, perhaps even more frequently, but it was a skill he had never picked up. One day he would learn his letters but for now a courier would do.

"Is that all?"

"Tell her that I love and miss her very much."

With the final touches in place, Callum handed over the aforementioned payment with a light hearted smile. He missed his grandmother deeply, but he was also grateful to be doing what he loved with the man whom he loved.

Someday he would bring Nimueh to meet her. For now he was resigned to just telling her vague details through letters, but Callum found a sort of excitable mystery in that. Corine loved to gossip so likely her entire friend group would speculate as to who her grandson would be bringing home. It brought a warm smile to his face just thinking about it.

Someday he would bring Nimueh to meet her. For now he was resigned to just telling her vague details through letters, but Callum found a sort of excitable mystery in that. Corine loved to gossip so likely her entire friend group would speculate as to who her grandson would be bringing home. It brought a warm smile to his face just thinking about it. How long would it take to see her again? And maybe he should write more letters. Zena’s couriers cost a good bit of coin, but really, in the end wasn’t it worth it?

(WC: 1001)  

[Painted Moose]

ღ ☾Stage 3 Solo 2☾ ღ

Little wisps of crackling embers popped out onto the fireplace hearth amid a chilled winter storm. The tavern's great room was packed wall to wall with travelers and locals alike, all eagerly searching for a safe port in the tundra. Callum had spent the better part of his evening observing patrons as they came and went, numbers swelling with each gust of wind that slammed against the sturdy Zenian walls.

With his back pressed against the wall nearest the hearth, Callum could absorb as much of the fire's heat without risking any damage. His position was unique in that he wasn't sitting at a proper table; he'd long since given up his spot to a fellow traveler, and was making due with his little niche on the floor. One nimble leg was extended in front of him against the flooring while the other was tuck closer to his chest. Settled between his thigh and chest was a well worn book, one of which was better suited for a reader much, much younger than he. It may have been easier to read in his room, away from the hustle and bustle of a great room in full swing, but Callum liked the noise. Everything was filtered through his brain as background noise, and until it all got too loud to think over, he would happily sit with his book.

Besides, his efforts were better kept secret for now. At least he thought so. The topic of 'reading' and 'writing' had never come up over the course of his relationship with Nimueh. While he doubted his lover would make fun of him for not knowing his letters, Callum would feel the shame never the less. In his youth it hadn't mattered; there was simply no time to learn how to spell your name when every moment determined your survival. By the time he'd become a teenager Callum was living in Jauhar, just trying to blend in with shifters, and then the war had come...

He flipped to the next page, not so subtly trying his best to pronounce things under his breath. Callum felt as if he were stumbling over more words than actually making any sort of progress, which would have been enough to discourage most men. He, however, was determined to succeed. For every word he got correct there were ten more he didn't, so the swordsman would inevitably start over from the beginning. Yawning, he shifted his legs so as to find a more comfortable position when he noticed a pair of little golden eyes peeping at him from underneath a nearby table. Callum watched as one set soon turned to three, and as if he'd made a formal invitation, three little ruddy faced iceling children made their way over to him.

At least two of the three barely would have surpassed his knees, but the third was a few good notches taller. There were patches of dirt on their skin, patches on their clothing, and yet despite all of this the younglings carried themselves with the dignity known to their race. One of the youngest, a little boy with missing teeth, moved forward and peeped at Callum's book. "How comes you weadin' on the gwound?"

"And why are you reading a book for babies?" While the smaller child held an adorable innocence, the oldest's gaze was nothing if not shrewd. It took Callum by surprised, but he smiled, never the less. He'd been around prickly children before; this one was no exception.

"I'm a beginner, so I'm starting with the basics."

"How come your mama didn't teach ya?" The little ones crowded themselves around him, mixing their attentions between the book itself and his appearance. Neither really bothered Callum; though he was concerned as to where their guardians were. Even in a secluded place like this anything could happen to kids this small. Talking to strangers included. He'd barely begun to lower his leg when the two smallest crawled onto his lap, one reaching out for the book. "Neska, Neska look, we gots this one!...Hey, this is ours!"

Oh, so these must have been the caretakers children. When Callum had asked after a book, any book, this morning he hadn't expected to find one so helpful. The caretaker had laughingly told him that the actual owners would be glad to get rid of it, but when he was finished with it their lessons would start up again.

"Your mother was kind enough to loan it to me for the day. You can take it back if you want to." By that point he had a child on each leg, arms curling around their backs to keep them upright. The oldest had settled down next to him, little gold eyes watching everything with a curiosity that was too strong to be suspicious for long. "...hrm, I wonder."

"What? Why are you making that face?"

"Well...I'm sure you three know this book pretty well by now, right?" When the oldest, Neska, nodded the smaller children were quick to copy. "Would you mind teaching me?"

The children seemed a little unsure of what to do with that. They spoke among each other, fussing over whether or not it would be worth it. Seemed like a lot of work, but also they would get to teach an adult, not the other way around, which was cool. AND they wouldn't have to do chores. But chores still had to happen...."I'll help you," Callum added, with an amused grin. They really were too cute for their own good. "The time will go by faster".

And that was all it took. Soon enough the kids were pointing out passages they wanted him to read, admonishing him only in the way children could when he messed up, and explaining things he didn't quite grasp. They sat on the floor long into the storm, only pausing to take a snack when the caretaker showed up with food for the quad. Even once the sun was out once more, and the snows had died all four read onward into the evening.

(WC: 1,017)  

[Painted Moose]

ღ ☾Stage 3 Solo 3☾ ღ

Callum highly suspected that it would have been easier to respond to his grandmother's missive if he'd had more than three hours of sleep in the past two days.

The swordsman's hands shook a little as he reached for his son. He knew it wasn't the boy's fault that he was inconsolable; cutting teeth was a difficult venture for little ones. Sol was far more irritable than usual, with a propensity for chewing on anyone and anything placed near his mouth. For the time being Callum allowed the infant to gnaw on his fingers, which seemed to calm him enough for his father to find a comfortable place to sit. Logically he knew why his son was acting this way, but the longer his fussing continued the more Callum just wished he would go to sleep.

Of course, it wasn't as if they were going through this alone. Nimueh was there to share the ups and downs with, as was Ygraine, but Callum had taken it upon himself as of late to tend to Sol's late night upsets. Many a day he hadn't been around to help with the kids due to working odd jobs, anything really to help with expenses, and so he tried to aid as much as he could while at home. Granted, that also meant a decrease in sleep, which left both father and son cranky.

Callum relaxed onto their cushioned bench as much as he could without disturbing the infant cradled against his chest. He hadn't realized that his eyes had closed until Sol's lone tooth nipped his finger and he jolted back into the waking world. When the boy seemed as if he were going to start whining again, Callum shushed him and tried to rock a little. Even with his hand covered in drool, fingers tender from a biting infant, and utterly exhausted he still just wanted his boy to feel better. He disliked seeing the way Sol would rub at his face and tug on his ears, as if he were trying anyway he could to get some sort of comfort.

Sure, the healer had told them multiple ways to alleviate the discomfort, but no real way to stop it. "It's something he'll have to grow out of." Callum felt genuine dread for all the sleepless nights coming his way, but it would be well worth it to see his son's brilliant smile at the end.

When it seemed as if Sol had fallen asleep, Callum took his shot and settled in for a brief nap as well. One had to snatch every opportunity they could get to rest with twins, especially when one wasn't feeling his best. Come morning he would pass the gauntlet off to his partner, but only because Callum would no doubt be called out for another job. Or maybe, just this once, he could have a 'lazy' day and stay home? He cracked a grin. While the idea sounded good, he knew without a doubt that it wouldn't happen.

Even if he did stay home, there would be no lazing around for Callum. It simply wasn't in him. A nomadic upbringing had taught him that if you wanted to survive you had to move, and sitting around on your bum would only hurt you later on.

His entire body jerked once more when Sol latched on with his little tooth and bit hard onto his Papa's finger. Callum hissed, but didn't move, lest he wake the boy up. His comfort simply didn't matter much when faced with his son's, especially when the boy actually looked to be sleeping well. Sol's face wasn't scrunched up, nor was he squirming around; for the first time in many, many nights he looked peaceful.

So what if his digits would be bruised in the morning? So long as Sol didn't break the skin it should be fine, right? Still, with Sol gnawing around on him like this it wasn't likely that Callum would get much sleep at all, unless he learned to sleep through it which was highly possible at this point.

He sent up a silent prayer to any God or Goddess watching them. Please, PLEASE, don't let Ygraine start teething until he's finished. Callum didn't know if they would survive both twins going through this.

Corine would want to know about this, of course; that was the purpose of most of her letters. She asked about the twins, Nimueh, Nimueh's family, the community that they lived in, if they were eating properly...It was all very touching, but Callum felt increasingly guilty the longer she wrote to him. Corine's letters came on a schedule; one every new moon, but his...well, Callum found himself strapped for time these days and with his literacy skills still being low his letters were infrequent at best. Maybe tomorrow he would ask Nimueh if he wouldn't mind responding to her? She would enjoy hearing from him directly and it would give Callum the chance to catch up on his sleep.

Of course that would have to be after getting their daily chores done, seeing to the children and preparing food...Callum groaned, flopping his head back against a plush cushion. Domestic life was so much harder than he had imagined. He loved his family, truly he did, but adjusting from a life of constant travel, with a new adventure around every corner, to staying put in a little cabin with snow everywhere was...irritating? The adjustment hadn't come easy to him; not as easy as he had hoped, anyway. Not that Callum let on to a lot of it; he was the poster child for making the best out of what life gave you.

And yet...he couldn't wait for the day when his children were old enough to travel. He wanted to show them all of the wonders he'd shown Nimueh, and see if they loved them just the same.

Callum felt his eyes drooping once more and this time he gave in. Tomorrow he would stay home, and if at all possible, stay just like this with his son tucked onto his chest infront of a warm fire and just sleep the day away. After all, everyone was allowed one true lazy day every once in a while, right?

(WC: 1,045)
 

[Painted Moose]

ღ ☾Stage 3 Solo 4☾ ღ

The spirit of a living soul is a fickle thing. It is innately strong, though some may seem weaker to the untrained eye. Any spirit can be lifted with a few kind words, but harsh treatment may just as easily break it.

Callum lay stretched out along one of the many rope walkways towering over Neued. From this altitude the noises of the settlement faded in with that of the jungle, forming a senseless sort of white noise that failed to register in his mind. He was fevered, as was often the case since arriving in Jauhar. A healer or two assured him that it was just the drug working it's way out of his blood. It was something that needed to be monitored, of course, but nothing to fuss over.

They could stuff him full of false platitudes for as long as they liked, but Callum knew the truth. Words couldn't take away the apprehension in their eyes anymore than it could ebb the wariness in their touch. At first they wanted to help; now, the healers were just as frustrated as the rest of them.

What little he could remember of the journey from Oba Callum would have rather forgotten. Nimueh's wound had to be treated first and foremost, which was enough to send him into a tailspin, but Callum hadn't been stable from the start.

In the first days of 'recovery' Callum was coping well with the withdrawl. The symptoms were manageable, though only because he had still been taking smaller doses of the drug. At times he would be coherent enough to act as a semi-functioning partner. Callum would always inevitably move from whatever hole they stuffed him in to Nimueh's side. His skin had been a sickly hue, ghastly even, with rings beneath his eyes so dark they could pass for a shifter's skin. Hands would shake, breathing would become labored, but over all he could at least pretend to function.

Then his doses changed.

The changes had been so gradual he didn't realize the magnitude of what was happening until they didn't come at all. Callum didn't take well to the changes. With his life line cut off, Callum's demeanor began to mutate overnight. What right did they have to do that without his consent? At fist he had tried rationalizing with the healers, with Nimueh, as best he could. Didn't they see he wasn't ready yet? He needed a little more time; time that no one wanted to give him.

When the drugs stopped coming Callum stopped pretending. With that lack of regard for his own state of mind whatever barriers he had set up over the years came tumbling down. His emotions and thoughts went to places far beyond his control. In an instant Callum's mood would switch from a hazed, passive state to one of unbridled fury. No one was safe from him; especially not Nimueh.

Thinking on it now, in a moment of rare clarity, tore through Callum. Nimueh deserved so much more than the verbal abuse he was assaulted with day after day. The worse the symptoms became for Callum the more he lashed out. Some part of his consciousness knew that Nimueh was aching, both physically and mentally, as well as going through the same withdrawal Callum was. Still, it didn't make him any less prone to snapping.

Callum couldn't sleep, couldn't sit still, couldn't concentrate; but what about Nimueh? He just kept pressing forward. He kept himself busy. After shunning any sort of physical attempts at comforted Nimueh presented him with the alk hybrid seemed to pull away entirely. They no longer shared a bed, hadn't since Callum was first taken by the Collectors, and the worst part of it was that until that moment Callum hadn't cared.

Blame had been chucked around like stones. There were times in which Callum would blame Nimueh, would rage with sobs choking him, begging for answers that the younger hybrid simply didn't have. How many times did he have to be mistreated before they let him die? That had been the big one; the tone that set it all off. In moments of clarity, once Callum's spirit had been properly broken, he had begged for death. The Collector's wouldn't let him; the only thing they ever gave him that he actually wanted was the drug that held him prisoner.

At least when he stayed with them he could keep some of his food down. These days it seemed like anything Callum ate came right back up. His heart raced, tearing the energy straight from his tired body and using it to raise his pulse to alarming levels. At times he couldn't breath. It was usually after one of his bigger tantrums when emotions were high. His chest would tighten, and Callum would damn near hyperventilate before someone could calm him.

He wasn't supposed to be out yet. When he was sure his guardians were either asleep from exhaustion or gone, Callum bolted. He ran as far as his legs could take him before falling. Thankfully he hadn't toppled out of a tree, but had instead landed on the peacefully swaying rope bridge. There he had stayed for the greater part of the morning, one arm hanging off the side, eyes staring vacantly into the canopy above. He needed air; needed to be outside of closed rooms, but when he tried to explain that to others Callum may as well have been talking in tongues. Were they afraid for him? Or afraid of him?

The latter terrified him the most. In his lucidity he was able to contemplate the sort of monster he had become. Years of pain had come rolling out on top of drug induced explosions. And for what? He felt more isolated now than he ever had before. Callum wasn't allowed to go to Zena to see his kids (one of the points in which he had attacked Nimueh over, even if it had been the healer who first proposed the ban) and hated it. Logically he knew why, but his heart craved them just as much as it wanted the drug. Why was he so broken that he wanted both equally? What kind of father could place something like that on level with his own children?

A crazed laugh bubbled out of his chest, spreading into the forest around him. Of course! It all made sense now! He was exactly like his father. Tauriel saw no problem abandoning his son, and with Laiyera's insanity tossed in it was any wonder Callum had been sane to start with. And now...now he had created a legacy. As much as he loved his children, he feared for them. What if this was inherited? It was bad enough that he should rend Nimueh's heart in two, but to have the children turn out the same way...?

Gods help him.

(WC: 1,14 cool
 

[Painted Moose]

ღ ☾Stage 3 Growth Solo☾ ღ

((Callum has never, nor will he ever, be a 'proper' knight. No matter how chivalrous he may act he can't seem to put on the muscle mass required to swoop in and save the day.

While going through drug withdrawals he's focused on nothing save for his own failure and the misery he endured while in Oba. From this point, he sees no way up, but a visit from an old friend, the very boy he saved during his first growth solo, can turn it all around. Fritz gives Callum an oppurtunity for change. He recognizes that the lighter hybrid will never be a soldier, but he doesn't have to be. There are several ways to be a master swordsman, and so long as Callum follows his heart he'll achieve victory in the end.

After seeing just how positively his actions impacted someone else, Callum will choose to move forward. Instead of taking up the sword to defend hybrids, he's now using it to spark a fire in their souls. While he knows he can't physically make a safer world for them, and for his children, he's begun to realize that he can make it a little easier to handle just by being himself.))

Over night Callum had decided to take his life back. His resentment towards being captured, again, had broken over the boiling point. So it came to be that when he had the opportunity, Callum ran. His broken body didn't take him far, barely even to the edge of Neued, but far enough that he could breath without being watched.

Breathing had become a chore at this point. Slumping against the side of a crimson tree, Callum felt himself falling to his knees on the forest floor with his hand pressed against his chest. It didn't make any sense to him. Why was he fighting so hard to breath when all he wanted was for this to stop? Even now his mind and body were simultaneously ripping his veins asunder in an attempt to find the slightest drop of drug tainted blood. It hurt so much, so very, very much and he couldn't-

"Woah there, buddy, I've got'cha."

Callum could barely lifted his head, but through a mop of ivory hair he saw the face of his son. His grown son. The sight body sickened and terrified him. How much time had passed while he was out of it? Had he missed the boy's entire life? He shakily lifted a hand to touch his son's obsidian cheek. There was something off about him that Callum couldn't place. The antennae were there, but his markings weren't the same....Black hair, not gold. "Sol-?"

"He's hallucinating. His fever's spiked too high; we have to get him back to the clinic quickly." A vague shape moved in behind Sol, speaking words to him that Callum couldn't understand. After a while even his son's words began to slur, and the last thing Callum remembered was being lifted off the ground before passing out.

-------

When Callum awoke two things became painfully clear in a matter of seconds.

The first was that day had already turned into night, as was evident by the candle lit room. Moonlight streamed into the room from a small window, contrasting sharply with the flames glow. It made his head ache to focus on other details, but then again, it was rare that it didn't ache these days.

The second was that the man he had seen earlier was most definitely not Sol. The similarities between the two ended once Callum looked past their dark Shifter skin and antennae. Sol's eyes were so much lighter, though filled with no less concern than this man's pupil-less black orbs. He was a slight, shorter man with an almost petite look to him. Faint markings decorated his skin, breaking up the monotony that was his darkened appearance.

The hybrid leaned forward, having been seated at a chair near Callum's bedside, and placed the back of his hand to the swordsman's forehead. When he sat back it was with a relieved sigh. "Much better. You gave us a scare earlier. I thought you were a goner for sure." Hazy silver eyes watched as the strange man stretched first one arm, then the other above his head. He then proceeded to twist his lower torso just enough to pop his back. "Ahhh, that feels good."

"Where am I?" Blunt and to the point. Callum was rational enough to realize when he was in a potentially dangerous situation, and given his track record this didn't bode well for him.

"In a bed." Seeing Callum's rising ire, the darker hybrid held up his hands with a nervous chuckle. "Easy. You're in my home, which is a short walk from Neued. You'll be able to get there easily enough by morning. In the mean time-" He rose from his chair, and offered a hand to Callum. "-how about something to eat? You could use it."

As much as he wanted to argue the fact, Callum's stomach felt the need to betray him. It snarled, rumbling against his torso with a ferocity that caused his host to smirk. "Told you," he quipped.

Left without a choice, Callum clasped the smaller man's hand and allowed himself to be pulled from the bed. His weakened body struggled to gain footing, but his host never wavered. When he wasn't reaching out to catch the shifter before a fall, he was walking just ahead of him, coaxing him down a hall with promises of a big feast. In all honesty Callum couldn't have cared less about food, but he knew there would be no way for him to get back to Nimueh if he passed out again.

By the time they reached the dining area Callum was panting. He reached out for the table's edge to steady himself, holding up a hand to stave off his host, who had moved closer to help. "I'm fine...just a little tired."

"Tired he says." The darker hybrid clucked his tongue. If he'd had pupils Callum was sure they would be rolling. "You need to eat more. A man your size shouldn't have visible ribs. If a stray wind came through here it would sweep you away, and then where would you be?"

Despite his situation Callum had to laugh. It was more of a breathless snort, but his mood was lightened. When he looked back to the other man, recognition pulled at him. "You...look familiar. Have we met before?" It seemed odd that he wouldn't remember such a unique physique and yet - "We have." Callum's eyes widened, "I protected you from the black smith."

The other snorted, "Protected? More like saved. That man was out for blood." He pulled a chair out for Callum to take, going so far as to give the seat a pat when Callum hesitated. Once he was sure his guest was settled the man went about setting the table. "The names Fritz, in case you forgot. I would say it's nice to see you again, but-" He motioned vaguely in Callum's general direction. "-you know."

Oh, he knew. A looking glass wasn't necessary for Callum to know what he must look like. His skin was caked in so many layers of sweat that he felt as if it were crawling. He lifted his arm, twisting the pale appendage in the candle light with a morbid sense of curiosity. It looked wrong to him. Gone was the sleek muscle that had defined him as a warrior of speed. He was back to being as gangly as he had been in his youth and it irritated him. So much work...wasted. It wasn't as if he'd been particularly successful in his training thus far, but at least he had been making progress. Not that one would be able to tell by looking at him now.

Over his arm, Callum caught side of smooth wooden plates being placed on the table. One, two, three, four, five- Certainly a lot more than what he'd been expecting. Fritz had mentioned a wife, but did he have-?

In an instant four children came bursting through a door to his left. Their bickering was enough to give him a migraine, but the sight amused him. They fought over who was in front, who had the best plate, the best chair; it made him wonder if this was how Sol and Ygraine seemed to outsiders.

A pang of longing throbbed in his chest. Callum missed them fiercely, but he knew it was for the best not to see them right now. Not until he was well again.

The children seemed to pay him no mind until they father popped the eldest on the back of the head and, quite loudly, told them to hush. "Goddess, we have a guest," his voice was very nearly a whine. Still, even his lips were quirked into a smile. "Can't any of you pretend to be civilized for an evening?"

A chorus of grumbled apologies surrounded Callum, all of which he was quick to shoo away. He liked their pep and fire; he hadn't seen nearly enough of it lately. In his sober moments those around him were either reserved, falsely cheerful or so wary that they tip toed around him. These children held nothing back, and he loved them for it.

Though, he couldn't help noticing how very alkidike they looked. For one thing all but one was female, with very few of them bearing any shifter traits. So, it only made sense that when Fritz's wife arrived, food in hand, Callum saw an alkidike. She was a taller woman, stoutly built with dreads so short one had to concentrate just to see if they were there. He watched as she dipped her head to exchange a chaste kiss with her husband. It was so tender and precious...So very like how he and Nimueh had been before.

At least he had the memories of those days, seeing as Callum didn't expect them to return.

The meal went by with little variance. Eya, his hostess, seemed accustomed to serving strangers at the dinner table. She explained that her husband ran the clinic next door and that while most of his patients were children he'd been known to take in 'strays' from time to time. They spoke about mundane things; safe topics that didn't dig too far into areas Callum wasn't ready to explore. He found that while his appetite hadn't truly returned he was able to keep what little he ate where it belonged. For the first time in a long time his body wasn't rebelling against him, leaving the swordsman oddly content.

Once the meal was over Callum offered to help clean up, but was shooed away by Eya. Her herd of children swept across the table with such ferocity that Callum was only able to sit back and marvel. What had she done to get them to do that? And could she teach him? Of course his kids helped out, but he'd never seen them attack cleaning with that kind of fervor. Task complete, the four fell in step behind their mother toward the western door.

They were barely out of earshot when Fritz made himself at home in the seat beside Callum. "So, tell me, why were you out on your own this morning? I know what you're going through, and I know that someone in your condition shouldn't be-"

"Don't. Just...don't. I cannot begin to thank you for all that you've done for me, but-"

"But you're not ready to talk, I get it." Fritz leaned agianst the table's edge, antennae twitching just the slightest bit. "It's just...I guess I'm a little disappointed. I've gone all these years with this image of a white knight in my head, defending the weak, smiting the unjust, that seeing you is a real bummer."

"Sorry to disappoint," Callum groused. He brushed locks of curls away from his face, only just realizing how long it had become. "It's not as if I didn't try. I trained night and day, but it was never good enough. Beyond my first fight the only battles I've won were against opponents half my age. You know what that means? That all of those close calls meant I was weak. If they were my age I would have been trounced." That's why as soon as he learned he was going to be a father Callum had chased physical strength like a man possessed. His self deprecating tone only scratched the surface of his internalized inadequacies. "I wanted to be able to protect my kids and every other hybrid in the world from the truth. And I was a fool. You can't fight against something like that; I may as well have been fighting the moon or the sun."

A tense sort of silence hung between the two. There was nothing to say after that. In his youth Callum had assumed that a few righteous warriors could carve a path of acceptance and safety for their kind. He'd foolishly thought that he could beat by centuries of prejudice with a dream. I'm an idiot.

The silence had lasted so long that Callum had contemplated going back to his 'room' when Fritz began to speak. "Seems like you had the right idea, but not the one you think." Confused, he turned to look at the darker man, who seemed to be lost in his musings. "That day in the market I didn't see any knights; not any real ones, like you hear about in stories. None of the earthlings in armor so much as glanced in our direction. I thought I was a goner until a real knight stepped in front of me." He turned to look at Callum, pining the lighter man with his obsidian gaze. "He was barely older than me with a frightened look to him. I couldn't see his face, but man, were those knees knocking. He didn't have any armor, didn't even have a weapon, but there he was, putting his life on the line for a total stranger. Imagine my surprise when this gangly little slip of a guy goes barreling at this hulking mass of Shifter, and steals his sword. That took a lot of guts."

Fritz's smile softened. "When it was all over, do you think he walked away? I mean, the spot light was off of him, and he had nothing to gain by sticking around. Nope, that idiot took me back to his house, fed me, and checked me for injuries. Me. The guy had a bum ankle. I'd never known that kind of compassion before. It was so obvious he had no idea what in the world he was doing, but hey, he was doing it." He reached out to lay a dark hand on Callum's shoulder. "That guy changed my life. Before that I was moving from village to village, stealing what I could to eat and sleeping with one eye open. That wasn't living; I know that now. But that guy? Now, that was living. He embraced life and did what he knew was best in his heart, even if he could have died doing it."

Callum didn't dare speak. This was...Honestly, he didn't know how to feel about this admission. How was it possible that he would have left this kind of impression on anyone? "Are you sure you were looking at the right man? Maybe your knight, and this kid swapped while you weren't watching."

"Yeah right," Fritz laughed. "Callum, I owe my family to you. You gave me the courage to go back and face my mother. She wanted me to grow up alk, and take up some kind of weapon. I refused. I had all the right training, knew all the right tactics, but I didn't' want any of it. I walked away from that life and studied healing. And you know what? I sucked at it. Still do. That's why I stick to making herbal remedies and let my assistant actually do the physical stuff. She's less likely to kill them. Anyway, so what if you suck at fighting? You're skinny; don't give me that look, you know I'm right. It's not like you're going to be able to take down a charging brute with a giant hammer. And pushing yourself to exhaustion is only going to kill you faster."

Wasn't that what Nimueh had been trying to tell him all along? In moments where Callum had actually put his heart into their sparring matches both had come away with laughs and good natured jeers. Once he was determined to get stronger things had changed. He'd begun to doubt himself more, which eventually led to the mindset of an easy victim for the Collectors.

The fact was that he hadn't fought back because in his mind he couldn't. Sword or not, Callum had believed that he wasn't strong enough to defeat them. And he was right; physically, he wouldn't have been able to take them down. Speed could only get you so far. Without the strength needed to cause real damage he would have only gotten hurt, leaving his children to the mercy of the Obans.

"Your gran said that you were a dancer before. You've got the body for it; all limbs, natural grace. Even with you stumbling around I could see it. So, my question is, why did you never combine the two?"

That...had never crossed his mind. Even now, with Fritz speaking so seriously, to Callum it sounded like a joke. It was a given that a dancer's flexibility could help his swordsmanship, but vice versa? "How would I be able to do any good if I did that? It wouldn't be anything more than theatrical performances."

"Not true." Fritz held up a finger. "It's not a real dance. Sword dancing is like any other fight, but it's geared towards show casing the beauty of the act. Instead of strength it requires a lot of pre-planning and agility. You would still be able to do your training, still be able to fight any baddies that come your way, but on the opposite you wouldn't be directly in battle all the time, nor would you have to sacrifice part of who you are just to make it happen. I mean, I'm not saying to do it as an all the time thing, but hobbies are good for the soul."

It did sound appealing. Callum could easily imagine himself drawing in a crowd from off the street, bringing in a partner who knew the plan, and putting on a performance. If he used an actual blade instead of a false one it would still be training. And besides, hadn't that been what he was doing for all these years? Never once had he won a match using physical strength alone; so what if he had been going about it the wrong way?

Maybe he couldn't save the world. Maybe his initial dream had been the foolish musings of a lone teenager, but by doing this he could bring some sense of wonder back into the world. If he could inspire Fritz to follow his path, and to create such a beautiful family, then why couldn't it work for others?

Because you'll fail at it like everything else.

But he hadn't failed. Not really. Every time he lost a match Callum had grown stronger in his resolve to push forward. His determination had seen him through a war, and had brought him back to Nimueh's side more than once. He had been so focused on being the physical protector for his family that he failed to realize what he could do for them internally. What if...what if he could do what he did to Fritz for his children? If he could show them the benefits of following their own path, regardless of any failures they come across, then wouldn't he be doing his job as a father?

"I have to go home," Callum murmured.

"What was that? I couldn't hear-"

The swordsman shot up from the table, steady on his feet out of sheer willpower. "You're right Fritz. You're. Right. I'm never going to be a typical swordsman, not like the stories; but I don't have to be." He could protect his family, and showcase his skills in front of an audience. That part of Callum that craved attention...it could be stroked without falling into any more traps.

It wasn't enough to let go of his parents. Their scars weren't what had been weighing him down.

It was his own.

"I expected too much out of myself, and when I couldn't live up to it I just...gave up."

"Well, it will definitely make recovery easier with a purpose-"

"You're brilliant. Brilliant!" Callum laughed and reached out to take the other man's face in his hands. Despite the wary and more than confused look Fritz was giving him, the paler hybrid smooshed his new found friends cheeks in his hands before pulling back. "No more choosing practicality over fashion. When I'm not traveling I can buy costumes, costumes, and a new sword, I'll need one-"

"Whoa whoa," Fritz pulled himself up from his seat, and turned Callum around, nudging him back through the hall. "How about you get some sleep first, huh? You can start all of this once you're healed. Remember, you're not exactly up to par yet."

Fritz was right again, naturally, but Callum couldn't help it. He needed something positive to focus on, and getting his life on track would help him to get his families back.

And first thing tomorrow he was going to tell Nimueh everything, whether he was ready for it or not.

(WC: 3,422)
 

[Painted Moose]

ღ ☾Stage 4 Solo 1☾ ღ

He had only been away from Sauti for a short time, and yet the feeling of hard stone under his toes was soothing in its familiarity. Most souls by now were sequestered indoors, huddling against the cold, or warming themselves with honeyed liquor from the tavern. It was nearing midnight, and along the roads of the settlement lanterns glowed invitingly. The wind had calmed, peacefully drifting, and though it was cold it was welcomed, at least in short bursts. Here, Callum could walk the grounds, comfortable in the knowledge that his charge was safe indoors. He should have been inside as well; a smarter man would have been asleep by now, buried deep in his blankets, awaiting the dawn. They would need to travel early to make it to Akiyal’s family before nightfall, and yet, like so many nights before, sleep evaded him. Callum exhaled hot air onto his cold fingers, and took in a lung full of the settling, Sauti night. Here, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself… he was simply a local, enjoying the stars that glimmered as they always did.

Under the moon’s watch Callum’s eyes lost their hoary glow and deepened in color to become an abysmal, monotonous gray. As beautiful as the night was, the scenery alone could no more change his mood than the plethora of liquor inside. Around others his temperament rarely changed; either Callum was a pleasure, always smiling, laughing, and exuberant or he was distant; so far sunk into his mind that it was nigh impossible to pull him out. Akiyal had more than once commented on his forlorn behavior, and yet, Callum did little to change the younger man’s mind. Age had opened him up as a more honest man, both to others and himself, regarding the emotions that lay deep within his soul. However, that hadn’t made him any happier. If anything seeing himself laid out so bare had caused Callum to become as removed from life as any member of the living could. Over the past two years happiness became more of an ever elusive dream than a reality, and it was becoming far too much of a strain to maintain the illusion of mental stability.

In moments like these, when the stars were fit to burst, Callum felt the emptiest. He would often clasp the ring around his finger with a ferocity that could call on spirits, and if his prayers could have reached them, then maybe the desperation in his voice would have brought his love back from the dead.

The attack had been as sudden as a storm, and just as consuming. For reasons he would never fully comprehend, his husband had been targeted by a group of alkidike while they visited friends in Jauhar. Callum wasn’t ignorant; he knew there were plenty of alk that hadn’t crossed the seas to Yael that still bore a heavy dislike for hybrids, but he’d thought the more extreme of their lot had been driven away. In that sense Callum was ignorant and had allowed himself to become blind in the face of Jauhar’s beauty. The pair had been swarmed in a moment of relaxation, sharing a rare moment of tranquility with a friend, their surrogate Eema, and all too quickly overwhelmed. Their target had been clear. Nimueh was everything they hated most in the world; an earthling sympathizer, and one who shared their blood. Eema was a bonus; a fellow hybrid they hadn’t known of, and yet, one they wanted desperately to kill.

No matter how hard they fought to turn the tide their loss was inevitable. A mob had descended upon the triad. The attack was so vicious and feral, orchestrated by women beyond reasoning, that it would awaken Callum with screams for years to come. In the battle Nimueh had disappeared from his sight, and that was that. One twisted, serrated piece of metal through his gut prevented Callum from seeking out his husband. Try as he might he couldn’t retain his consciousness, and all the deseperation in the world, the pull to just stay awake, couldn’t keep him from fading.

He had never expected to wake up. When he found himself swaddled in bandages, lying atop Eema’s bed, Callum could scarcely believe it. Good sisters had come, she said; they had been tracking the lingering extremists for years and while they dispatched of most some fled. In the confusion Nimueh had been lost; Eema thought he had gone after them, the sisters had thought he’d been taken but either way, he had been gone from sight for too long. After a day of searching the alkidike responsible for their rescue had returned with grizzly news; a body had been found, but it had been badly burned. As if someone had attempted to hide their deeds or even...to burn away the impurities in their victim’s blood.

There was no way of knowing for sure if that body had belonged to his husband or not. And yet, a funeral was held, just the same.

In the beginning Callum’s emotions had been volatile, and even now, years after the incident, he struggled to remember those months. Callum knew of a night, a darkened room and a pillow, shoved so far into his mouth that he gagged, all in an effort to keep the children from hearing him scream. Callum had suppressed so much in the beginning that it made him physically ill, and really, wasn’t that more damaging to his kids than allowing them to see him cry? How many nights did he lie awake, choking on his own inability to keep up, to prove himself just as strong as any alkidike to save the one person who had always saved him? But he knew, just knew the wall he’d built so high had been chipped away to such a degree that he wouldn’t be strong enough to stand again.

Nimueh’s very existence had been tied with the last vestiges of Callum’s sanity, and with him gone, the man started to slip away.

Thoughts of chasing Nimueh into the afterlife had always been tantalizing close, and now….now he wondered just how much of his mental instability had been visible to Sol and Ygraine. He knew they had been cared for on his worst days; his in-laws would have seen to that. They were teenagers at the time; old enough to understand, but still so young. How many times had they tried to reach out to him, only to have Callum brush off their concerns? Or worse, to be so devoid of life that he’d ignored them? He should have been there to guide them through it, and yet...he just couldn’t.

He remembered the red flower, though. Callum could taste the bitter tea he so often brewed with it’s scarlet leaves, and after a while, it became a nightly routine to help him sleep. It was a dangerous risk he took; to walk that thread, already so thin with past addiction, and still keep his head high. If his children noticed the difference they didn’t comment. The tea dulled his senses, made it harder for him to feel the near crippling depression, and allowed him to be a part of their lives in whatever capacity he could. His body, already so thin, slipped down to near dangerous levels, but food help no appeal to him. In those days all Callum wanted was a cup of tea, and the warmth of his cabin.

Before his eyes they ascended into adulthood, and soon enough, left to live on their own. Ygraine had her adventures, Sol had his training in Sauti, and Callum...had an empty nest, on his in-law’s land, in a country he never truly belonged in. When the tea could no longer cull his mood he put the flower down, one last time, and took a long, hard look at his life.

Callum had been born of desperation, and had lived his life on its principles. For every great moment of happiness an equal amount of darkness had come to snatch it away, leaving more than its fair share of emptiness in its wake. The sheer fact that he no longer felt the need to cry was more shocking than his episodic mood swings. Sex, drinking, parties....Nothing helped to fill the void, and as desperate as he was to feel decent again, Callum struggled.

It wasn’t until he set fire to the cabin that he felt the urge to live again.

With his husband out of reach and his children gone, Callum decided there was no reason to keep a home anymore. It only tied him to this world, and kept him stagnant; if he was going to try to keep himself together it needed to go. Simple as that. He saved what personal effects he thought the children would want, packaged them for his in-laws to keep, and under the glow of a winter’s moon set fire to the only real ‘home’ he had ever known.

His children, though grown now, still yet walked with him in the world of the living, and he wouldn't abandon them. He couldn’t; not again. They deserved far more than he could ever give them, but with Nimueh’s absence Callum was keenly aware of having to work twice as hard to be the parent they needed. He had failed for years now, but maybe he could be just a little better. For them.

Watching the brilliant embers consume the space he’d inhabited for so many years brought Callum a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a while. It was cathartic; sitting in the bitter snow, warmed only by Faulina’s feathers at his back, letting go of what kept him stagnant. With no home there was no going back. He would either get up, move on with his life, and survive, or freeze to death.

A sudden ruckus behind him reminded Callum that while he walked beneath the stars, he wasn’t so far removed from others. Several young women stumbled out of the inn, and while in the throws of a unified tune, they couldn’t seem to keep to the same key. The sight relaxed him. He didn’t know why, but a part of him had assumed it would be Akiyal, ready to haul him back inside like the mad man he was. The younger Sautian was stubborn to a fault, honest to the point of obnoxiousness, and yet...refreshing enough to keep Callum on his toes. He’d come into his world like a bounding sermal, ready to tear his way through Callum’s subconscious whether he was ready or not. It had happened so abruptly that Callum wondered when he had grown used to Aki being there. At this point in their travels it felt only natural for him to tend after the younger man, to push him in ways Aki’s own father wouldn’t, and maybe that in itself was helping him to cope.

Callum turned his eyes to the inn, looking for the window he knew belonged to their room. What would he have gained by following his husband into death? Nimueh wouldn’t have been pleased, that was sure enough, and would likely have berated him for the rest of eternity for being so selfish. Callum released a long, pent up breath, before turning to head back. He wasn’t ready to let go, not yet, but he wasn’t ready to write himself off, either. Sol and Ygraine needed a father, and Akiyal...needed something, though Callum wasn’t sure what that was, exactly. For now he would be a guardian to him; someone to stand by while they figured out what it was they wanted out of life.

It wasn’t much, but maybe, at least for now that was enough.

(WC: 1987)
[5]