Dragoncrest Cliffs you got a boy like him, a man like me

one day it occurred to sobeille she knew nothing about her father's family.

while in sapphique, the term fatherhood was largely absent, and therefore the male contribution to family trees nearly negligible, sobeille realized val had to come from women. and those women, she supposed, ought to be known and honored same as her other grandmes were.

therefore, he suddenly became a topic of interest to sobeille -- who could most days take or leave his presence.

val, sobeille rounded upon him in her direct way, referring to him by his name rather than his title. she'd never seen him as a father figure, simply because sapphique did not endorse them -- and while he was present in her everyday life (almost to an annoying degree), sobeille simply didn't recognize his contribution. 'ow come you never be talkin' bout your side of de family?

it was not often sobeille approached him -- when she wanted to be in his presence, it was like a little light shining in his world. he lit up any time the children -- any of them -- wished to interact with him. but it was sobeille he had the hardest time reading.

he supposed she was a young girl, growing into her own and unfamiliar with the world around her. he imagined that was scary. he tried to remember what it was like for him, every day a new experience -- and how terrifying and exciting at once things could be.

there were parts of sobeille val could not understand, though he strained to emphasize with her. she was distant -- cold, even -- even when she was close. at times he felt the clinical sweep of her gaze over him and wondered what unknowable things she was thinking. other times, he did not wish to know.

setting aside the fish he'd wrestled from the banks of glintwater, val's cheery smile faded. this was not a question he expected, from sobeille least of all -- but he understood legacy was a thing of great importance to her.

why sobeille, no one has ever asked. he tried to keep his voice level, but felt the crunch of gravel in his throat. what do you want to know?

sobeille ignored the fish, focusing on val's dark face. she saw much of her in him -- the shape of his eyes, the two white ends of her paws. but she felt she was a stronger representative of her female line: her coat was the vibrant red of her maternal ancestors. her physique was undeniably coastal.

but surely, val's damline was worth knowing?

for starters, what be dere names? an' what dey be lookin' like? did you know dem? did you love them? eti be sayin' our grandme be pirates. what about your grandme, val?

val listened as a volley of questions was thrown his way. while he admired sobeille for her interest in his family, in doing so, she inadvertently exposed how little he knew.

you know of raleska, yes? she was my mother, though your grandmes raised us both. he waited for the solemn nod before continuing. raleska’s grave overlooked the sea - situated besides her were others: kaertok, erzulie, rosalyn… she was dark , with grey and tan throughout. she had.. he thought for a long moment: yellow eyes not so different from you. and she was strong, and she was cold — a sigh unfurled his lips, for he had known raleska as an older sister the entire time she’d been alive. to learn after her death she was his mother had uprooted just about val’s entire foundation. she had a hard life, before your grandmes took her in and raised her as their own. she had a long history here, and your grandmes and my grandmes a long history together, too. your grandme erzulie and rosalyn met my grandme, caiaphas — a long time ago.

sobeille was riveted by interest. her gaze flitted to the gravesite not so far from here, envisioning the bodies that remained while the souls fled long ago.

there were times she remembered val telling bedtime stories: how he would speak of the sea witch that haunted the grotto. de sea witch? she blurted suddenly, eyes narrowing as the small pieces began to turn in place, revealing a larger picture. an’ were dey pirates too? ‘ow did dey all meet?

aye, the sea witch. val afforded a short lived smile that scarcely reached the wistful edge of his eyes.

he told her everything he knew; the bits and pieces he’d learned from rosalyn, the small parts of erzulie’s life she’d shared with him - of how they’d fought tooth and claw to keep their home; how they were chased up the coast by a bear; and when they settled at the throat of ankyra, how the oppressive thumb of drageda pressed down upon them. he told her stories of their victories and their defeats, of the slaughter of shardik and the butchering of sobo — of chasing the bear out into the hinterlands. and then, he told her his own life experiences too; how that had filled in the gaps and given context to the many open chasms he’d felt in his life growing up.

he noticed sobeille was silent the duration he spoke. while this was not unusual, val could sense there were a thousand thoughts circling behind those circumspect yellow eyes.

sobeille, he started gently, reaching for a tactful way to say his piece: what has inspired all this interest?

sobeille drank all of val's imparted stories in as a drunkard does with wine: greedily, brazenly, heedlessly. it was not enough.

he told her pieces when she wanted the whole portrait; he fed her lines when she wanted the entire coast. she fidgeted, silent as she ruminated. there was enough here to paint the barest of sketches -- she would have to draw from him strokes of color, brushes of texture -- until at last she had a lively and living impression of the storied lives before her.

i be wantin' to know who i come from. sobeille replied distantly. she was already moving, but not yet aware -- in thought, she traveled close to the graves of her kin, forgetting val was ever there at all.

she was not satisfied. val was bewildered as she moved off, stating something so plaintive he could not let it go without comment. sobeille, you come from sapphique -- he knew she knew her mother -- and he was fairly certain she did not care for who her father was. val understood the virtue in outside blood, but he turned his cheek to it, for thinking too long of mireille's body held under the grip of another caused a snarl of smoke in his heart.

but it was the way- irrespective of if he wanted it. and someday, his daughter would find this way -- another equally disconcerting thought to val.

she stood by the graves of her ancestors now. val frowned as she ran her paw along each stone. do you think you don't belong here, sobeille?

of course she came from sapphique! men were so dull -- so stupid!

sobeille rolled her eyes, ignoring the ripple of fur lifting along her flank and back. val could be so obtuse.

but it was his second question that caused her to spin, the cut of her eyes suddenly hard with suspicion.

i belong here. sobeille countered instantly, though a new seed of doubt spread its dark tendrils between the walls of her heart. but you don't.

even val, used to the mercurial knife of sobeille’s moods, was unprepared by how quick she turned upon him.

he took a step back, mouth slack with a soft gasp. surely she did not mean what she said? he fumbled along the hardened lines of her face, searching for a chink in her blade-like expression that might betray she spoke out turn and felt sorry for it.

nothing. he was stonewalled by his own teenage daughter, left grasping for where the ropes holding their tenuous relationship had snapped.

you don’t mean that, sobeille. val’s brow pulled forward in concern and hurt.

but she did! sobeille had spent weeks parsing the stories from each sapphiqian survivor. she’d pulled from the wreckage of each account a single narrative, where pieces fell into place! every one, save for val.

and what purpose did he serve to sapphique, really? sobeille looked upon him with loathing. he was the black leech moored to a glorious ship; his rounded proboscis the lamprey’s guzzling mouth on a system too proud and too well-oiled for him to deserve tasting.

she edged a hardened shoulder his way. i do mean it. he was on the edge of the precipice behind her, standing on the graves of those who had given sapphique their all. his shadow blackened their ultimate sacrifice. he’d no right to sallow such hallowed ground.

an unwelcome thought hissed around her neck like a garrote.

what if she just gave a little push?

sobeille was a wall of stone. val took a step back, cut down by the glittering coldness in her eyes. what prompted the teenage daughter of sapphique to act this way? surely, this had to come from somewhere other than his own inaction.

he sensed rather than saw the shadow of thought that danced across her expression. though he could not name it, he knew by intuition alone it was mercilessly dark.

another step back, tense. and sorrowed too — for sobeille’s words had been the harrow on his softened fields, his flesh rent exposed and left to crumble under the beating of her unflinching stare.

sobeille. val pleaded softly. you know that is not true.

kismet intervened and answered the unspoken thought that hung unhinged between them. val stepped back as if struck by a fatal blow. sobeille tracked the anguish as it made his features its home.

it would be so easy.

not now, instructed a voice. was that voice her own, or someone else’s?

the intensity in her posture slackened. she shifted her gaze from val, as if awoken from a reverie. she licked her lips, appeasing the snarling of her own tangled emotions more than the ruination of val’s.

she said nothing else. he, like all the men in sapphique, would never be spared her true empathy. sobeille turned from the cliff edge where val’s soul nearly joined those of the graves beneath her feet — wondering after the faint voice she’d heard that did not speak again.

for what felt an ice age, val endured the cold state of his daughter. her moods were impossible to predict, but the glacial tones behind them easy to read. he was shocked — and then guilty — by the relief that washed him as she turned away.

he wondered if he should speak to mireille of this; of how sobeille was growing further apart from them all. and in the back of his head, he recalled another troubling thought about his daughter that he still could not bear to think too often.

oh, maman. val murmured to the grave besides him once sobeille was long gone. what did we do wrong to make such an angry child? he placed his paw upon the face of rosalyn’s grave, wishing desperately he could see her face and hear her voice just one last time.

she would have known what to do.