Dragoncrest Cliffs Procellous

And there it was.

Dark pupils were like pinpricks against the verdigris of Sobo’s gaze in the bright light and Njord spied the masseter muscle pop as his son’s jaw tightened. Like the bite of a coastal winter storm, there was no warmth in his expression.

Njord’s posture softened, disarmed. Sobo did not leave. Even if there was no reconciliation, the young man would hear his father’s piece.

He took a few steps forward.

“It must hurt ta live with so much scorn in yer heart,” Njord observed sadly. “An’ I am sorry, because I ken I put it there. I’ve wronged ye, Sobo. I hurt ye. I felt it in tha bottom of ma heart, but I nev’r put words t’it. I didnae ken how.”

Too much time has passed.

“I wanted ye so bad, Sobo.” The timbre of Njord’s voice shook. “But I thought ye were not mine ta ‘av. I let us… ” The cadence of his words slowed as he severed the thought. He could make no excuse, though a memory hung in his mind like a cobweb.

“I am sorry, Sobo. For hurtin’ you. Mireille. All of it.”