Herod reclined beneath the towering boughs of a great alder. His posture was regal, his golden eyes fixed in steady contemplation. Two servants hovered nearby, their sole duty to ward off the biting insects that dared to disturb their master's stillness. Yet, their presence was hardly noted by the lion. The air hung heavy with tension, though none dared to speak it aloud. The Abbot's golden eyes, sharp and calculating, remained fixed upon the makeshift den where Hasdrubal lay resting. The boy would stir soon--of this, Herod was certain. It was only a matter of days, and once he awoke, the journey back to Godsmouth could begin in earnest.

Yet a small, unsettling notion gnawed at the edge of Herod’s mind. The boy had fled once; What assurance did Herod have that Hasdrubal would not attempt the same again? He would need a tether, a reason so compelling that even the wild, untamed heart of the boy would find no escape.

Tricky, tricky, Herod mused, his tail flicking against the forest floor in a languid rhythm, setting eddies of fallen leaves aloft.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement shattered his reverie. From the shadows, a head emerged, its paleness catching the light of the noon sun. A wave of relief washed over Herod, palpable as the sigh that escaped his lips, and for the first time in weeks, the tension in his shoulders eased. He rose to his feet, dusting the dirt and forest debris from his golden coat, each movement composed, though his heart beat with urgency.

Herod’s attention shifted to the wolf standing beside him, his lips curling into a smile that was more command than warmth. His voice, smooth as velvet and heavy with authority, resonated through the clearing like the toll of a bell. Butcher the calf. Separate half of the meat with care--the hooves, hide, and horns are to be preserved in their entirety. These are to be delivered to Ransem with the utmost haste. And see to it that the finest morsels along the riverbanks are gathered as well. We are to prepare a feast, for it seems a celebration is in order, my son.

There was no hesitation in the command, and none in the wolf's swift acknowledgment. Yet Herod’s attention had already shifted. His gaze fell upon the second servant, his tone softening, though no less suffused with power. Seek out Elveera and inform her that Hasdrubal has awakened. She is to teach another all that is required for his care, that she might take her rest at last. Her tireless dedication has not gone unnoticed, and soon, very soon, we shall return to the hallowed site and complete what has been set in motion.

The servants, like shadows given purpose, scurried away, swift to fulfill their master’s bidding, leaving Herod alone with his thoughts once more. He stood for a moment longer, allowing the breeze to rustle his silvering fur. A week had passed since the boy had fallen into this restless sleep, and though the land had endured storms and rains, Herod could not shake the sense that their window of safety was swiftly closing. Time, once plentiful, now felt fleeting. They would not camp here long.

And so, with measured steps, the lion began his descent toward the boy, his mind preparing for the conversation that awaited.

The Snowbird woman descended upon Herod like a squall. Her shrill and indignant voice rose in a flurry of squawks, demanding his attention. Yet he did not deign to respond, only drawing his head back as her words lashed at him like the beating of wings. The faintest curl of his lips and set jaw betrayed his restraint. The elder's golden eyes fixed coldly upon her, watching from beneath the heavy shadow of his brow. There was no need for words. Her fury would burn itself out, as such things always did.

When at last she stormed away, her indignation trailing behind her like a dissipating gust, Herod’s gaze followed her briefly before he turned, shaking his head with a tsk.

There was no rush. The boy--his boy--had not gotten far. Could not get far in his current condition. Through the tangle of leaves and branches, he saw him--Hasdrubal, struggling against his fate. Herod’s expression softened; amusement tempered with sorrow. He would wait. He had always been patient, and this moment was no different. The boy’s efforts would cease soon enough, and when he turned to face his reality, Herod would be there.

The Abbot would wait until the boy’s futile resistance ebbed, and his eyes--those striking, unnatural opals--met his own gaze. The lion stepped forward, his movements slow, as though not to startle the boy further. With a gentle flourish, he removed the alligator-hide cloak from his shoulders, laying it carefully upon the ground.

Hello, Hasdrubal, Herod's voice, though gentle, carried the weight of worlds. It was a greeting filled with a quiet, somber attachment. He lowered himself to sit upon the hide, smoothing it beneath his silvering paw.

I had hoped, he began, his words rich with regret, that when we met again, it would be under better circumstances. There was no denying the distance that had grown between them--an ocean's worth of mistrust and fear. A faint sigh escaped him as his gaze remained locked upon the boy’s face.

I can see that during our time apart, you have grown to fear me. Worse still, you have come to believe your own falsehoods, to twist our past into something it never was. Herod’s voice faltered momentarily before regaining its strength, still calm despite the ache within. 

There was hurt in his expression, carved into the lines of his aging face. The last time we stood before one another, it was...unfortunate, I will admit. But you must remember, Hasdrubal--you were the one to first spill blood. You were not imprisoned out of cruelty but for your own protection and for the safety of all those who would have suffered had you not been contained. His words were measured, and his golden gaze never left Hasdrubal’s, as though trying to reach some deeper understanding.

There was no anger in Herod’s voice, only a profound weariness after years of devotion and a year of struggle and heartache. All I have ever wanted, he said softly, was what was best for Godsmouth…what was best for you. The sincerity in his tone was undeniable, a plea wrapped in layers of authority and care. He reached out then, his paw resting gently upon Hasdrubal’s shoulder, the touch both familiar and strange after so long. I am willing to forgive, he whispered, the words carrying the weight of a promise. Come to your senses, Hasdrubal. Return home. We can be as we once were. Together—Prophet and Abbot, as it was always meant to be.

Herod’s golden eyes searched the boy’s face, his expression a mixture of hope and sorrow, as though daring to believe that some fragment of their old bond still remained.