Hushed Willows tomorrow never comes until it's too late

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It wasn’t surprising when another culmination of events played out before him—the spoken words were vitriol in their intention and tone, though the man remained curiously still. Whatever had occurred between Reverie and Mae was nothing he could even begin to speculate on—both were completely unreadable to him, in so many ways, but as her parent, it was clear who the true villain in her story was.

The truly sorrowful part of it all was that Akavir didn’t know when the drift that had started between them had become a canyon. Mae had reacted negatively when he had reprimanded her—and soon, his presence had been intolerable to her. Talking to her had seemed an impossibility.

Yet how many nights had he slept outside the den Jakoul and he had dug for their children? Wanting to maintain a distance in the sense that Jakoul had simply wanted children and wanted him to father them… And then, how many nights had Arric, or another slept with them, when Akavir had been, once again, outside of the territory, trying to control things that were so far out of his reach it was laughable.

He was a fucking fool.

“Mae,” he began, but found his voice cracking with the emotion—and thus quickly paused. She continued—the lift of a paw to wipe at the tears that fell from her eyes—holding back the very strong urge to reach for her and pull her in for a hug that only a father should have been able to give a daughter….

… Because he didn’t have that right anymore.

He didn’t know Boone, spare Reverie’s mention he was of importance to Mae. He knew of the quarrel—but he didn’t know the details. “We can never repay them for saving your life, Mae…” He shifted—a paw lifting, wishing to reach to her—but only allowing her to cross the distance if she chose to. “There’s never anything I could do to repay that to them. You know that, right? But you can come home. You can always come home.”

A pause, his eyes stricken upon her. “Please just come home.”