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Detraeus had always known, on some level, that his children would eventually move away from the home they had been raised him, grow out and up, and leave he and his mate alone again together as they had once been. It was what children did, after all. They became adults, and in time made lives and children of their own. When Ataya and Akara had been born, however, that concept had seemed so distant that it hardly bared consideration, both of them so tiny he could cradle one in a single arm. When they had begun to walk and talk in what had felt like the span of a single breath, the concern of losing them was still far off and unreal.

When they hit their teenage years, Detraeus supposed that the concept ought to have, perhaps, begun to feel slightly more real. Ataya in particular had spent that time testing the boundaries of the ‘nest’, ever at odds with Detraeus’ rules and spending as much time off on his own devices as he could manage. But to Detraeus, even up until the last moment, his son and his daughter still felt like children to him. Far too young to be off on their own. Too inexperienced to make a life without the protection of himself and his mate. Too naive to take on the world. They were not yet twenty summers.

Due to this attitude — and to having come to grips with Ataya’s habit of leaving on a whim down to Taliuma — Detraeus had not immediately appreciated the degree and finality of Ataya’s most recent expedition. He had assumed, after the first day or so, that the boy was simply off again on a trip that would last perhaps a week at most. He always came back. He was too young not too, and too foolhardy still. Then, after a handful of days, he had voiced a concern to his mate, and Araceli had explained the truth.

It went over poorly.

More than his anger at being left uninformed, however, and even more than his concerns for Ataya’s well-being — though those were certainly highly prominent — he felt a pang of regret, and loss, to know that he had made it this far, all the way through the boy’s childhood, and somewhere along the way lost the trust that it would take for Ataya to communicate with him, even when it came to such a major life choice as leaving the home. Now, with Ataya gone and no precise knowledge as to where exactly the boy had went, his only hope at restoring anything on that front would come if and when Ataya ever chose to find them again. He would, surely, if he lived to. He wouldn’t leave the family behind indefinitely, Detraeus felt sure of that.

But how long he would remain away? How he would fare, if he might suffer, or worse, killed? Those were unanswered and unanswerable, and Detraeus spent a significant period pouring his frustrations into huntsmanship and the surrounding wilderness. It was after one such expedition, weeks since Ataya’s departure, that his daughter’s voice pulled him out of his reverie upon returning.

He glanced her way. Framed by the entrance of the stables and backlit by the outside day, Detraeus realized with a frustrated pang that — no matter how much a child she still seemed to him — his daughter, too, was a young woman, and something in her tone alerted him to likelihood that he would not appreciate what he was about to hear. Frowning and giving a resigned grunt of a sigh, he set aside the last of his spare weapons, strapping or hooking them into their various storage locations before turning his full attention to her.

“Talk?” he repeated.

Detraeus eyed his daughter, a stiff tension yanking in his gut at the words. Yet, they did not come as as much of a surprise as he might have expected. He almost anticipated them. After all the events that had transpired between them, and with her…lover, Nesrinn, in combination with her age and temperament, and the disappearance of her brother, it felt all but inevitable that she would broach the subject soon enough. It felt too soon, of course. Always too soon.

But expected, just the same.

He dusted his palms on his belt, gaze flitting down to eye the soil, straw and gravel of the stable floor before glancing out, towards the door. “When?” he asked.

The spines of Detraeus’ tail bristled, rippling and splaying with barely contained agitation at the mention of Nesrinn’s name. He couldn’t kill the boy, that was settled for better or for worse, and he had — at great pains to his own temperament — even gone so far as allowing him to visit, on brief occasions, with his daughter in the aftermath of their ‘spar.’ It still irked him to think about. The mere concept of him near to his daughter, his hands on—

Flicking his tail sharply, Detraeus dismissed the thought. With force of will, he guided his line of thinking elsewhere, to the important, salvageable facts. “Your mother and I will help to move you in. And you will remain in contact with us?”

‘Unlike your brother,’ went unspoken.

Det grunted. While Nesrinn was an inevitable subject on occasion, he had no desire to speak about the boy more than absolutely necessary, and in that light, allowed his daughter to say her fill, reserving commentary to himself until the subject moved on. When it turned to the actual finding of a place, he tuned in again.

“Yes. Somewhere safe…”

While he knew nothing of the make up of Tukyere — having never been there himself — the opportunity to scope the place and find as suitable a location as possible for his daughter was welcome. After a brief period more of discussion with her, Akara eventually departed, leaving Detraeus to sit in his thoughts. It was some time before he exited the stables.

Detraeus blinked, stilling at his mate’s voice and glancing over. Twenty years together — more than that, even — and on sporadic moments like these, he still found himself amazed that he had her, in awe of what they had built together, and momentarily speechless at how beautiful he still found her. As lovely, or more so, than the day they met. Flushing, he dipped his lashes briefly before catching at her with his tail and leaning in to press a quick, chaste kiss to her lips.

“I am,” he said. “Many thanks to you. I cannot imagine how my life would be, otherwise. It is just…difficult, after so long, to imagine not having our children here. Strange to think, when once I could not fathom the concept of fathering any to begin with.” He hesitated before reaching, layering his hand to her waist and thumbing the curve of it, then studying her again. “We have spoken…in the past, of returning again to Ayr some day. Perhaps after Akara is settled…we might travel again? And you…” He considered a moment before remembering. “You intend to meet with Ysaride soon, yes?”

“Mm…no,” Detraeus agreed, his mind drifting at his mate’s words to adventures past, as well as potentials for the future. Though it would be a drastic shift, to no longer have his children around, he could not say that the thought of having Araceli again to himself was not appealing. It seemed an age and more since they had last had that opportunity. “Not bored.”

His gaze dipped, eyeing her again as she went on, speaking of the ‘True Form’ ritual and the man she would meet on the Plane. Though he had heard of it in bare snippets in passing in his youth, it was not until Casseth and his mate attained access to that final magic that Detraeus had been made aware of exactly what such power entailed. The thought of Araceli taking such a shape was—strange, intimidating in a small way due to its foreignness, but exhilarating in others. He wondered how she would look, taking on the shape of one of Magesc’s most feared beasts.

“I have orbs to spare,” Detraeus said, the comment almost off-handed in comparison to his main line of thought. “You make take all you need.”

As the case happened, he only had the exact number of ayrala orbs that his mate needed, according to Lithian’s count on what had been required of them when they made the journey. But enough was still enough. On the day that she departed, Detraeus felt a great stirring of restless energy and an unusual ache of emotion. Loneliness, he realized, was something he had not grappled with in quite some time.

His house was not meant to be this empty.