At least one full cycle of the moon’s phases passed since his arrival and Alexander was on the mend; what wounds he once wore were healed and faded, coat filing the spaces back in. There was a quietness about him these days, a self-inflicted lonesomeness that he couldn’t quite overcome. He was there to protect Laurel, to regain his strength and use it to keep her safe—but he was only just starting to regain the weight previously lost and, since arriving, was yet to see her again. Part of him wished to honour his sister’s terms, if only for the fact that she provided him with shelter when he needed it most—but he wondered if, by honouring those terms, he was breaking his promise.

Slowly, Xan abandoned the den he was provided with and made his way through the territory; he needed to stretch his legs and clear his mind, to decide what his next move was.

Walking was not yet an easy task, body resistant; he was feeling better, healing, but he went so long hardly moving that he was needing to reteach his muscles what it meant to get around. Concentrating on the task at hand, every ounce of focus put into walking, he did not notice Laurel. Only when she chuffed did his head snap up, gaze leaving the ground and focusing on her. Initially, his tail started to wag slowly and he shifted his direction to head towards her—but he never quite reached her. His sister’s voice echoed through his head, as did hers, from back when he first visited Easthollow in search of her. Those voices, loud and insistent, made his entire body still some distance away from her; his tail stopped wagging and he averted his gaze, looking back towards the ground.

“I can go somewhere else if you want…?” he offered, wanting to give her, her space. But… if he gave her too much space, would he still be able to protect her? He wanted to talk to her—there was so much he wanted to say—but, at the same time, he didn’t want to push her.

There was a moment of silence between them, his ears folding back with uncertainty. Would she demand that he leave? Anticipation bore anxiety and he opened his mouth to say something, then promptly shut it when she posed a question of her own—something he was asked before, something he was previously unable to bring himself to answer. But that former inability was the result of the wrong person asking him and now… now it was the right one—

—“For you,” he breathed, nervous. “I’m here for you. To—to fix what I fucked up.” That was all he wanted, all he could think about when he was alone in the wilderness.

It was a question that ran through his head constantly, always being asked but never answered. He didn’t know how to fix it or if it even could be fixed—but he needed to at least try, even if only to remind himself he did when his mistakes came back around to haunt him again, if it ever stopped currently. But it was his turn to keep quiet, allowing several seconds of silence to surround them. Yet, it was only when he stopped thinking so hard that the answer came to him with ease, as if it’d been waiting all this time to finally appear.

“By staying,” he decided. “By not leaving again. By giving you everything you deserve in life, everything I should have in the valley.” Regret could not be entirely removed from his tone, lingering throughout his words. “I’m only here for you, Laurel. I wasn’t worried about dying during the famine until I thought of you,” he continued, words rolling from his tongue and him unable to look away from her. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Whatever you need, I’ll get it. I just want... I just want to make you happy.” Thinking of someone other than himself was still a new concept, something he wasn’t yet sure he felt comfortable with—but she was worth any and all discomfort, even if all that came out of it was his continued allowance to stay in the same pack as her.

He didn’t know what to expect, whether it be acceptance or shouts—but the why that left her mouth wasn’t even on the list of possibilities. There was a moment of silence, his weight shifting back and forth with discomfort, whilst he struggled to grasp his thoughts. Wasn’t the why as obvious as the day was bright? “You know why,” was the first thing he said, gaze averted. Didn’t she know? And if he didn’t, then what? Drawing in a deep breath, he raised his head to better look at her, gaze seeking out her own.

“Because I care about you,” were the next words spoken. But it wasn’t that simple—things never were. To care for someone was one thing but Xan… “No, that’s not entirely true,” came next, added with a slow shake of his head. That wasn’t the entirety of it, only a portion. “Laurel, I love you. That’s why I came back. That’s why I’m here now.” Love was a foreign emotion to the Apaata, more so than he was willing to admit. But there was no other word he could match with how he felt other than that—even after everything, he still found comfort in her presence, in knowing that she would be there. He still saw her as his friend, the last of few, and perhaps the best of them all. Love was all he could use to explain himself, it was what kept him coming back.

When she spoke back, his ears fell flat against his skull. He didn’t expect to be believed—and yet, hearing her words still stung. It hurt to not be wanted, to not be accepted. But, most of all, it hurt that she didn’t believe him; if only she knew every inch of his mind, had visited the depths and resurfaced again. Would she understand better? No—if she visited those places, she’d hate him more. She’d hate him for everything he was, everything he wasn’t—for everything that happened, for every moment of his past. For his declaration to protect her when he’d never been able to even protect himself.

“I know,” he croaked out when she stated her hatred, head hanging, defeated. But what followed, the challenge to prove his words, made him wonder if maybe he still stood a chance. Could things change for the better…? His head snapped up and he stared after her but his mind ran blank, not another word to leave his mouth. He kept still and watched after her, following her movements, now fueled by what ounce of hope he was given.