Redhawk Caldera Vessel

He winced as both of his sons turned to him, disbelief in their eyes, and smiled weakly. He had no idea what he was doing, and began to feel as if his kids might all be better off if they didn't see ghost-dad tackling their abusive grandmother into an endless abyss. It was worth rescuing Ponyboy, but it might still mean that all of his kids might need therapy for the rest of their lives. 

He thought that perhaps being dead might make him poetic, like Wraen- but she had been well-spoken while she had been alive, as well. His little brush with True Death didn't seem to gift him with any additional skills or knowledge. 

"You look like you've seen a ghost,"

It certainly hadn't improved his weak dad-jokes, either. 

He heard the sweet voice of his daughter pipe up, and looked to see her- noticing the little things that had changed about her since his death. How was it that children grew so fast? He'd missed so much- months, for Killdeer, and weeks for Ponyboy, Bronte and Boris. 

"My little girl," he crooned, melting at the confusion and sorrow in her eyes. 

Killdeer mentioned another- and he realized then that there were other matters for him to fix, and he grimaced lightly. 

"Yeah that...That was me. I didn't expect to come back as a kid, I just..." And then he realized. He'd been playing Coltan while they'd travelled, in order to spare Killdeer the grief of learning the truth. Now, here he was- translucent, scarless, and aged. His features fell. "I'm so sorry, Varmint. I couldn't figure out how to tell you, I just wanted more time..." His voice trailed off, and he looked to Ponyboy and Bronte, past them to the den, wondering if Boris and Teya might appear as well, though he wasn't sure he would have the time to explain, or say all of the things he wanted them to know. "I'm so sorry, kids. I loved you so, so much."