Qeya River But you can do a kindness and look me in the eyes

Many mixed emotions sloshed around in Anselm, like a badly mixed cocktail on the cusp of overpouring. 

Etienne shifted from foot to foot. Tears — evoking an unwelcome sense of empathy in Anselm — began to matt the healer’s cheeks. 

H-how? He asked of Druid first, eyes widening as he thought of the worst. Not Amadeo, a sickness. The sickness from before. He recalled Druid had only months before taken a leave of absence out of abundant caution. Surely not — surely she had not… 

He swallowed. Fuck. But then Etienne shared something that cast the slenderest candle’s worth of light upon what was a sorrowed situation. Ezra was with Heda. Hearing him say this and then vilify Amadeo in the next breath was validating, invigorating, and vindicating. He knew Amadeo was trouble. He knew it the moment he’d caught that greasy fuck lurking outside of his children’s den. 

The hunt. Anselm had all but forgotten it. Forgetting how cruelly he’d treated Etienne, Anselm supplanted himself before him in a gesture of alms. Etienne. Please — He begged, refusing to let the stinging in his eyes become tears: vatch Ezra for me. I cannot travel in this state. Gideon needs me here. Vhat of Amadeo? Has he gone vith Heda?