Swiftcurrent Creek once, there was a way to get back home

Lilitu.

His wayward daughter—it was no longer a strange thing for her to up and disappear without word, and for that, he did not blame her. The call of wanderlust was strong in her genes—Viinturuth was an example of this, as well.

When she beckoned him, it was with a halting worry that she call for him alone—his pace quickening, and as she came to view, the man’s gaze drew over her, worry knitting at his brows—eyes instantly falling upon the wound on her shoulder. “Lilitu,” he murmured, pulling closer, looking to draw her in for a hug. “We should have Arlette address that.”