Chapter Text
Describe your character’s relationship with their mother or their father, or both. Was it good? Bad? Were they spoiled rotten, ignored? Do they still get along now, or no?
O-o-OShe could still hear them sometimes. When she left behind the horrors and cruelty of the City of Chains and escaped to the empty, desolate expanse of the Wounded Coast. When she was there with her toes digging in the sand it seemed as if the wind carried their voices across the chasm that separated them. Maker, how she missed them.
They had left so much behind in Lothering but the thing that had hurt the most was leaving Father. He was long gone, having passed years before the Blight had begun, but there had been something comforting about being able to visit him when the world grew heavy on her shoulders.
But here in this city of suffering and death she had no place to go when it all closed in around her and though her mother would never admit it Niamh had known she felt the same way. So on one of those ridiculous forays into the wilds outside the city she had found a place that would suit her purpose. It was out of the way, hidden by a tangle of branches. There on a windswept little hillock she had laid a stone, carefully hand carved to honor a man whose body lay in a land across the sea but whose spirit followed her everywhere.
Malcolm Hawke
Beloved Husband and Father
And in the years to come when she lost more than she thought possible she would bring another stone to rest beside his. With eyes rimmed red from crying she would lay on the brown grass and rest her cheek against the cool stones and realize how much she had taken them for granted. She had believed they would always be there, her parents, heroes, protectors. It was a child’s delusion and fleeting at best.
But where they had gone she could not follow. And their absence only served to remind her she was a child no longer.