A Father's Grief

Note: Image associated is from Ironage.media, specifically their prompt, 'The Homesick'

"Who's that Mama?"

"Hmm? Who's who, little light?" Mathilda turned as her daughter tugged at her long skirts, following her little fingers pointing off at Rift's Edge Way. "The Longbeard with the orange hood? That's Old Gracehammer, or at least that's all I've heard him called. Probably best to leave him be, Elia. Longbeards aren't the most easygoing folk, and he seems like something's on his mind." Mathilda turned back around, fighting with the weeds growing in her front garden. As frustrating as Tangled Creeper is, it at least meant the soil was healthy. Even if the sun was rarely seen this deep into Kregga's soot-filled Smithing District, the right things would grow as though blessed by Herestra herself.

Elia gave a slight pout, knowing her Mama wouldn't budge on the matter as she'd used her name, not just her nickname. But with her focused on the grimy work of weed-pulling, would she notice if Elia slipped away? She'd never met a Longbeard that she could remember, and who knows if he'd ever be so close again, let alone if another would ever be in Kregga. With exaggerated stealth and caution, Elia backed away from her Mama, eyes darting between her and Rift's Edge Way, the orange hood a signal torch calling her in like the barges in the Grand Canal. Mathilda didn't hear Elia go nor her scampering down the street to come up beside the large, stone-still Longbeard.

"Hello, uh, sir. May I sit here?" Elia asked, her mouth suddenly dry as she took in the Longbeard. He was less than twice her height but easily as broad as three of her standing shoulder to shoulder, and everything about him seemed too big to be in such a small frame. His nose was too big to be held in both Elia's hands, his beard was as long as her torso, his arms as thick around as her head, and his legs even larger.

His beard rustled and twitched slightly as a deep rumble rolled out. It was almost unintelligible to Elia's ears. Eventually, she heard, "Is it wise to disobey your mother like that, kopa?" Nothing else about him moved, not even his eyes, beyond a faint rustle in his beard as he breathed, slow and deep as though roused from a nap. "Can be dangerous for a young one to go scurrying away from their mother's skirts. Even for a not-so-young one too."

"You didn't answer my question, sir, and it's rude to pose one back if you haven't answered." Elia scrunched her mouth in disapproval, trying to mimic Mathilda's mastery of that disappointed face that Elia elicited more often than even her twin brothers did. She almost had it, but the Longbeard showed no effect to himself for her efforts.

That is until she saw an eye shift over to look her over and heard a rippling laugh emerge from the grimy white forest on his lower face, "So it is, so it is. Yes, you may sit, though I suspect your mother will be collecting you soon."

Elia saw a thick, gloved finger pointing back to her home before she heard her mother, not quite shrieking, "ELIA! What are you doing? Leave him be!" Mathilda brushed dirt from her front, hustling over. "I'm sorry if my daughter bothered you, sir; I told her to leave you to your business." Mathilda sputtered as she scooped up Elia, who seemed to be trying to hide within her own shadow at the moment.

The Longbeard shook his head gently, beard wagging, and while you couldn't see the grin, you could hear it as he spoke, "No need to be sorry Ma'am. I remember when mine were her age; tell them not to touch something and you may as well hand it to them, tell them not to go somewhere, you may as well take a skip gate there." As he looked back out across the Rift, his jovial tone fell, a lament stepping in, "Would that it could stay that way." A brief pause held them all in its grip, even little Elia knowing not to squirm or sniff as a profound something touched her little heart, making all feel heavy, as though her own body was the weight of the Longbeard. As the feeling fled her limbs, he spoke again, something like pride in his baritone now, "She's a good one there, Ma'am; you and her father have done well. Be sure to keep her close, without trapping them too much." He seemed to stare down at his hands for a moment before pulling his hood a little closer.

As Mathilda walked back to their home, both mother and child thought they could hear a soft weeping from Old Gracehammer, but still, he didn't seem to move at all.