— I'm not here looking for absolution —

Stave had not expected to bring life into this world—not when so much of his life had been spent removing it. It was a strange sensation, the antithesis of his entire being, but he does not find that he overly regrets it. Instead, like so much in his life, he finds that it washes over him and leaves him relatively unscathed. It is only when the months have passed and he has discovered that the little ones have entered this world that his curiosity peaks. He heard rumors of Ghaul handing over the Cove to Gospel and while he is loath to leave Pangea, he does finally tear himself away for the day.

He walks quickly, his legs eating up the distance between the kingdoms. It’s dawn when he finally arrives and while he usually does his best to never see the sunrise, even he has to admit that the gentle light washing across the kingdom is not entirely unpleasant. He sniffs lightly, almost dismissive, before he casts his dark gaze over the rest of the kingdom. The pair of them catch his eye quickly and he stands still for a moment, watching as the pair of serpentine stars wrap around one another in the early morning.

He feels no great sense of paternal pride, no rush of love, but he does feel curiosity.

Tilting his head, his dark eyes consider them and then move to the horizon. Gospel is out there, he knows, and he looks forward to finding her once more. Perhaps they will resume their usual dance of life and death. Perhaps he will finally bleed the rest of it out of her while their children watch.

His lips purse in thought, a rush of adrenaline at the thought of it, before he focuses again on the children.

He reaches his gift into the ground for a moment, rooting through the soil and the roots until he finds what he is looking for. None so gently, he begins to pour the powers into it until the skeleton of the small deer. It was young when it passed, but bordering on adolescence. Still, it was fresh enough that the bones were all intact. It erupts from the soil in one swift motion, shaking the dirt from the bleached ivory of its skeleton. He smiles at it before jerking his head toward the twins. Without hesitation, the deer begins to run over there, rattling as it does. Finally, something of a smile tilts Stave’s lips.

His version of a present, he supposes.

— I'm not here looking for absolution —

They are not frightened of the deer.

This pleases him.

They do not coo at it either and he supposes that is right, also.

Instead they lurch to their feet and stand off against it. There is steel in their eyes and the girl actually attacks the deer. It nearly sets his temper off, having something of his own creation attacked like that, but he supposes that she is of his creation too and he thus lets it slide. Instead, he releases his grip on the deer and lets the bones fall to the ground, clattering as they do and lying in disarray at their feet.

Once a moment more passes, he moves from the shadows toward them. He cuts an imposing figure, but his prowess has never been in his lean muscle or large build. It’s always been in the cunning of his mind. The control he wields over life and death itself. There is something of that in his belly.

Something cruel.

Something cold.

“Are you pleased with yourselves?”

His voice has no warmth for his children—only the barest glimmer of paternal pride at their ferocity. He looks down his nose at the two of them, the endless black of his eyes searching them before nearly dismissing them. Stave stretches and flicks his tail at his hocks, almost impatient as he stands there.

“Where is your mother?” A glint of white teeth against the black of his muzzle. Something living there in the unsaid, in the real reason that he would want to see their serpentine of a mother.

An arched brow, a slow breath.

“Please take all day to answer. I have nothing better to do than wait.”

— I'm not here looking for absolution —

They are frustrating things and if he was more reflective, he may recognize Gospel’s and his own stubbornness reflected back at them. But he has never been particularly good at seeing his own faults and there is no true paternal warmth to soften his opinion of them, so instead he feels nothing but annoyance.

The slightest hint of rage if they were more worthy of his true wrath.

His lips pull back from his teeth in a show of his anger, although it is not his teeth and hoof that they need to worry about. His tail flicks, whips against his haunches, and he focuses on the sting for a moment to distract himself from the way that his throat grows warm with the words currently unsaid.

“Do you always evade questions when an elder asks you?” he turns a question back on them and this time, there is a slight heat to his words. He should not have to answer to children—let alone ones that he is responsible for bringing into the world. His temper flares again, this time growing cold, and he runs his fingers across their life force. He pulls on the strings of it, drags his knuckles against the length of it.

Perhaps they feel nothing.

Perhaps they feel that strange emptying—that sensation of being drained dry.

He stops quickly enough. Releases his grip to let it flood back into them fully, and his eyes never leave them. “Answer me before you regret it,” he says between gritted teeth, taking a step forward again. “I helped create you and I would be more than glad to be your undoing.”

Another pause as he stares into them hard.

“Now let me ask again: where is your mother?”