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The reunion doesn’t go as well as it could have. Y’shtola doesn’t recognise him initially, his aether becoming something mangled and foreign and wrong. That hurts.
Three years had passed. Under the dense forests of the Rak’tika Greatwood, Master Matoya had taken up the post of defending the Night’s Blessed, and had encouraged a small community to be born out of the roots of Slitherbough.
That’s a lot to contend with.
“Hawu,” Y’shtola says, breaking him out of his reverie and beckoning him over with a tilt of the head, “a word, if you will.”
Casting a glance to track the rest of his party’s whereabouts (Ryne sharing conversation with around the cooking pot, Thancred exchanging hushed conversation with Urianger in the mouth of a cave), he almost trips over his feet to follow after her.
Her study is cozy, homely for what he expected. Towers of tomes scattered about, reading nooks and crannies light up with candles and smatterings of melted wax. A small smile graces his lips at the scene.
“Something funny?”
That’s something he missed. Her teasing voice, that smooth lull.
“Just thinking about how much you were missed.”
Just thinking about how I missed you.
“Well, I should be touched… That fact you made it all the way out here should be heralded.”
His smile is soft, and shy, and she laughs a little herself.
“Come here, please.”
Hawu approaches softly, taking in her visage. Dark gown and fur linings, that same brown skin. The way she can be so expressive with just one smile.
She reaches out, taking Hawu’s hand in her two and pulling it closer to her, studying him. He flinches a little at the touch, feeling his cheeks heat up at the sudden warmth.
“Relax, please.”
“I’m relaxed!” He squawks. “So relaxed, in fact. In what world would I not be relaxed? What are you doing, again?”
“Your aether has… it’s changed. It’s broken.”
She scowls at his core, almost scanning him, “I want you to tell me should anything feel different or… off, during the time you spend here looking for the Lightwarden.”
Her words aren’t meant to be cutting, but they don’t very much put him at ease. Broken. He’d heard that before.
She brushes a thumb over his knuckles in the meantime, distracted in her thoughts.
They stay there for a while, Hawu not quite sure how to proceed, until she lets his hand drop between them.
“That’s all I wanted to say. Feel free to reach out to Runar to find some sleeping arrangements with the others.”
She’s far away, now, already heading over to her corner table to pore over a tome already splayed open on the hardwood.
He assents, murmuring a quiet goodbye and scarpering as quick as possible.