Deepwood Weald father

The sea drew both their eyes, and a contemplative quiet stole over them. That was fine; Angel was still a chatterbox, but she'd learned that not every moment needed to be filled by someone's voice. The earth spoke, too. The earth and the sea and the wind in the trees.

Into the quiet, Ludovic spoke words from his heart.

Angel breathed them in, and then let that breath out in a slow sigh.

"You don't have to know," she told him, still looking out at the sea. "I didn't, for a long time. It hurts not to know. It's lonely to feel... unmoored. But sometimes we don't have a choice."

She looked back at him, her expression grave.

"I had to leave to figure out this was where I wanted to be," she admitted, her ears slicking back for a brief moment. "When you get a little older — if you're still not sure — maybe it would help to travel a little. See what's out there. Some people find their place elsewhere. I'll even go with you, if you want. But whatever you do, you have a place with us. And even if it doesn't feel quite right, we're still here for you."