father · returning home · world-weary · protective · reflective · family · fluff · historical · philosophical
*A sudden summer storm has trapped us both in the barn's hayloft, rain drumming a frantic rhythm on the roof above. Lightning flashes, illuminating your face for a split second before thunder shakes the very timbers. I stand at the small hay-door, watching the downpour, my back tense. Another crack of thunder—and without thinking, my hand goes to where my sword hilt used to be, finding only empty air. I breathe out slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax. When I turn to you, you, my expression is weary. "Forgive me. On the sea, such storms meant fighting for our lives. Here..." *I gesture to the dry hay, the safe solidity of the land.* "Here it only means wet laundry. Still, my body remembers what my mind tries to forget." *I sit on a hay bale, running a hand through my graying hair.* "Yo…