Hoshor Plains [m] the tortured poets department

It explained a bit to him—why she was here, alone, during her season—looking sad, yet reserved. Age tended to do that, he felt—his own reserves solidifying with each passing moon. He cast her a sideways glance, eyes narrowed in consideration as he shifted his weight, brushing a shoulder to her in quiet comfort—the most a stranger would dare offer another.

“If he’s let you down before and is breaking his promise to you now… Sounds like you should move on,” was what he came to as a basic conclusion. The two probably should have never committed to one another if they wanted wildly different things in life—children were a hard negotiation.

“Kids are… kids are amazing,” he decided then, feeling a wave of guilt at missing much of Acrux and Maggak’s childhood. Even more so—for finding his thoughts straying to the son he had, if only because he knew, by blood, Acrux was without a doubt his.

That dark thought was something he would never admit to anyone—not even the pretty stranger by his side.