Chapter 447 - 448: The Others.

Chapter 447: Chapter 448: The Others.

​"As long as you’re safe," Khojin eventually relents, stepping back to appraise him from head to toe like he can still hardly believe that he’s there, in the flesh, standing before him, "That’s all that matters."

Khobi hugs him again, and Khojin Frost, with his iron will and all his strength, sags against him like the indomitable mountainside residing within him has suddenly decided that it can bear the storm no longer.

"I’m so glad you’re safe."

​"Me too," Khobi whispers back, holding him firm and steady the way his uncle had always held him firm and steady when he was a child.

And as Khojin pulls back, running a hand back through his dirty hair and giving his wife a helpless look of bewilderment that this thing that they’ve all dreamed of has finally come to pass, suddenly Khobi understands in part why he hadn’t been able to reach for Bongo’s sword even though the perfect opportunity to finally steal away with his family had presented itself.

He hadn’t noticed before --probably by design --but away from the king; now that it’s just the three of them, in the company of the only people in this world they trust, the weight of the years spent running and fighting, has finally set in.

​They look so tired. Dirty, from life on the road; their clothes worn and faded, and the soles of their boots worn thin.

They look so drained; sick with worry and bowed under the weight of carrying the same hope he’d harboured. Never weak, because there wasn’t a weak bone in either of their bodies, but there comes a point when even the strongest of men grow weary.

Even now that they’re alone Mozry still isn’t quite at ease; gravitating around the room and scanning from corner to corner with bleary eyes to take stock of its contents and its entrances for anything suspicious like it’s something she’s grown accustomed to doing.

She was always more careful than Khojin; more analytical, but he knows hypervigilance when he sees it; is well acquainted himself with that all-consuming mistrust of the world around, and it hurts to see it reflected in his aunt.

​"We’re clear," she finally decides, and then heads over to the window to peer out and down. Khobi knows that look; knows she’s scanning for guards, counting rooftops, and trying to pick out a safe route down.

"If we’re going to do this it’ll have to be the window or the door, Khobi."

​"The door won’t break," Khobi tells them simply, and they seem troubled that it sounds like he knows this from experience. Which he does. "...But..."

​But?

​But what? Because all this time, hasn’t he been waiting for exactly this? For his aunt and uncle to come here so that he doesn’t need to lose himself in the wilderness trying to find them? And once they did, they’d break him out and together they’d head away beyond the walls and into the wilderness, in whatever direction Scargga lay from here.

That was always the plan, right? To run back home.

​But what if there’s no home left to run to? Khobi’s ready for that; has been ready to rebuild it with his bare hands if he has to, but what if Briyagi is there instead, waiting for them.

Waiting for them to stumble back to the one place they expected to be safe, tired and weary from years in the wild. He has no idea where Mozry and Khojin have come from to find him, and how far.

And before that, how far from Scargga have they fled over the years. How far is it even back home, and how dangerous? Khobi’s never even thought to ask. Momoi would’ve told him, if he had.

Loac probably would have brought him a map and shown him, if he’d asked.

​Loac.

​"But...we don’t...we don’t have to go tonight, right?" he says, swallowing hesitantly, because he doesn’t want them to think that he doesn’t want to go, because he does; doesn’t want them to think that just because he’s wearing Crade colours and trusting Crade soldiers that he doesn’t long for Scargga’s mountains.

But he wants them to be safe.

He wants them to be well. He wants the bags under their eyes to fade and for them to not have to worry any more.

And maybe it’s selfish of him, but even though during his time here he’s spent hours envisioning the day he’d leave these walls behind, suddenly the idea of leaving this room right now and disappearing without a trace brings a heavy pit to his stomach.

​"...You...maybe you could rest here, just for a bit?" he suggests, expression hopeful, "You’ll be safe."

They probably won’t believe him, because they don’t know this place like he does and when he first came here he wouldn’t have, but he says it anyways.

​Just for a little bit.

​From the furtive way they exchange glances, they’re clearly torn.

But there must be something in Khobi’s face that sways them; or perhaps they know that he’s seen through the facade to the deep-seated weariness they’ve been trying to conceal, because eventually, Khojin offers him a smile so that he knows he’s won.

​"That does sound nice," he admits after a long moment, "I don’t know about you, love, but I would love a bath."

​"I suppose it couldn’t hurt to let Gurdet think we’re playing along for now," Mozry concedes with a sigh, and Khobi feels some of the tightness in his chest begin to loosen as he watches his aunt drop down on the edge of the bed to test it.

And then, with a louder, more resigned sigh, she flops down onto her back with her arms spread wide; a simple act that makes her suddenly look so much younger. It brings a smile to Khobi’s lips. Khojin’s too.

"And it will take Ranga and the others some time to catch up with us anyways."

​"Ranga?" Khobi’s ears prick up with a start. He remembers that name. "He’s...he’s still alive?"

​"He is," Khojin assures him as he drops down onto the couch with the anguished groan of a man twice his age finally getting to take the weight off his feet after a hard day’s work.

And as he stares into the hearth his smile turns both fond and sad as he adds, "They didn’t quite get all of us."