40th Day of Winter, 510 A.V.
How long had it been? Hatot felt a sinking feeling over his miserable failure at commitments made and not kept. His head lowered as a fogged breath escaped his lips, the subtle rustling of heavy cloaks brushing along deep snow lingered in the air as his hand slipped out from underneath, fingers brushing along the Cheva mark that still lined his neck. He wondered why it had not changed, why Kavala had still been devoted to him after he had been gone for so long without a word. Wyser and the Velispar. His family dragging him further into Riverfall society. His own students going through their Rites. How the hell could he have forgotten her in the course of an entire season?
He had faced many things over the course of his life. Very few things had frightened him. Point in fact, the only thing that had was Radris, and she had relieved him of that fear. Facing her, after having been gone for so long, however, to see her disappointment, to feel the most definite anger she would have for him as a result? Such truly terrified Hatot down to his very core. It froze him in place where he stood more than the gently falling snow and biting cold air of the winter season. His legs shook not from the cold, but from his expectance that she would not forgive him for such. That she would send him away, never wanting to really see him anymore. “How about we head to the tavern first, drink these nerves away?” Radris’ voice echoed into Hatot’s mind.
“I didn’t expect you to be anxious.” Hatot echoed back, his gaze still fixed on the fine, white snow that was ankle deep.
“I ain’t afraid.” Radris echoed with a scoffing tone before falling silent for a moment. “Think she’ll kick our asses?”
“We deserve it.” Hatot replied, letting out a heavy sigh as he looked back up to the front door. “But I fear the words. Physical pain and injuries heal with some attention. Words can scar deeply and haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Radris then fell silent again, not having any jest or snide reply. It felt entirely like the had just committed a dishonorable act, and they had both felt disgusted with themselves for it. “Sure you don’t want to grab that drink first?” Radris suggested once more.
“No,” Hatot replied immediately, “the longer we wait, the more difficult it will be to return. We could no longer be welcomed as it stands now.”
With that said, Hatot began to move forward, his feet leaving a trail along the snow that was more like a line that tracks. He was dragging his feet and they felt so heavy now. He had an easier time walking into a den of hatching Velispar than he did with facing the potential anger and disappointment that Kavala would likely have for him. He could only hope that she would forgive him.
He stopped at the front door, his hand reaching up and grasping at the buckle that kept his cloak fastened at his neck, slipping it free. Flashes of his first encounter with Kavala swarmed in his mind, the hesitation that both of them seemed to have towards one another. As the heavy cloak was laid out along the ground, Radris had his own flashes as the tail of the cloak Kavala had made for the both of hung loosely over their body. Flashes of the first time Radris and Kavala had met each other. She had been the first one who wasn’t an Akalak to stand up to him, after he had killed a man in front of her no less.
The hooded white robe that she had made for them was removed next and laid out over the heavy cloak so it would pick up no dirt from the ground. Hatot released a worried sigh as he reached to his side with both hands, beginning to unbuckle the straps to his leather armor next, several memories of times before when it had been removed. Of Kavala or himself removing it to examine or heal wounds, and other times that were more physically pleasing. He slipped it off to the side, leaving his upper body now bare. Scars old and new lined his body. Some of them Kavala would be wholly familiar with, others not. And they both remembered of times when Kavala’s fingers would trace curiously and tenderly over each of those scars. Finally, Hatot reached behind his back, already feeling the cold air beginning to like at his skin like a razor, before pulling his Lakan free from its sheath. He looked over it in silence for a long time, noting each of the features he had put into it, and how it had a twin to it. Its brother rested in Kavala’s possession. He had always known were she was when she carried it with her, but for so long he had not gone to her. Looking over the Lakan in his hand, that fact began to make him nauseous with guilt.
Hatot slowly lowered the Lakan to the ground, laying it just before the door, its handle facing away from him and towards the door itself. His neglect in recent time left him feeling he didn’t deserve to handle such himself anymore. He knelt along the ground, the cold snow spreading along his shins, knees and feet as a cold he couldn’t seem to notice over the anxiety of being a failure in Kavala’s eyes washed over him. His hand slowly reached up, fingers curling into a fist as it remained hovering in the air for another long moment before finally wrapping along the door. Both of his hands fell to his knees then, as his gaze was lowered to the foot of the door, waiting to see who’s feet would appear first. If it was Aweston or another living within Sanctuary, he would plead for them to get Kavala first. In the end, he wouldn’t just enter without being invited to first. For what he had done, he had felt he had lost such a privilege.