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Skwisgaar absently picked at his guitar as he stared, vision not quite focused, at the computer screen that was attempting a call. Tyr always took a while to pick up, Skwisgaar was used to that and he never minded waiting a few minutes as it gave him time to do his favorite activity: play guitar.
“Skwisgaar, hello! Sorry it took me a bit to answer, I didn’t realize it was ringing!” A warm voice said in Swedish.
Skwisgaar looked up from the guitar and smiled at the familiar face that looked back, a face that was lined with age but had lost none of its youthful friendliness. “Don’t worry about it. I was just practicing some of what you suggested last week,” Skwisgaar’s replied in his native tongue.
“Oh yeah? I bet you’re already a master at it.”
Unable to resist the urge to show off, Skwisgaar belted out a few bars and was met with a laugh and exaggerated applause from Tyr. Skwisgaar had been on stage playing for millions of people screaming for his music, applauding him until their hands broke, but Tyr’s applause meant something different. Skwisgaar bashfully looked down, unused to the paternal praise that Tyr seemed to share so effortlessly.
“Uh, listen…” Skwisgaar started, setting his guitar aside, an extremely rare action on his part as his guitar was seldom out of his hands. We have a few days before the tour starts and I was thinking…”
Skwisgaar’s hands felt clammy; he was not used to asking for anything.
“I was thinking I could drop by and visit for a day. This week is that festival you told me about, right? The one you said you go to every year?”
Tyr nodded. “Yeah, I’ve gone to it every year since I was a boy. You want to come with?”
Skwisgaar nodded curtly and took a deep breath; he hadn’t realized he wasn’t breathing as he asked that. “Uh… Yeah. If you don’t mind and all.”
“Of course I don’t mind!” Tyr exclaimed, tossing his hands in the air in his typical animated fashion. “Truth told… I was hoping to ask you to come. I just know that you have a busy life and, well… I didn’t want to impose to ask you to keep an old man company all the way in Sweden.”
“It’s never an imposition, D-“ Skwisgaar stopped himself before he finished the word.
“This is a wonderful! I haven’t seen you in, what, two or three years? Have you grown taller?”
Skwisgaar chuckled. “I was already in my 30s the last time we met so I don’t think there’s much chance I’ve grown. Anyway, I’m already 197cm tall, I don’t think I need much more height.”
“Even a grown man is still a child to the father, but I guess you’re right,” Tyr laughed, not noticing the way Skwisgaar’s eyes widened at what he said. “The festival is in a couple of days, you’ll be here by then?”
“Yeah, I…” He hesitated. “I had already arranged the flight…in case you said yes.”
“I’m glad for that. You’re a good kid, Skwisgaar.”
Skwisgaar fidgeted in his seat, his left hand straying to the strings of the guitar that sat next to him. “I have to go now, the jet is ready and I’ve got to set out so I can make it with plenty of time to spare.”
“Already packed?”
Skwisgaar nodded. “Got everything I need.”
Tyr’s face, always kind but usually benign, was alight with happiness. “I’ll get the guest room prepared for you!”
Skwisgaar held his hands up and waved them. “Oh no, it’s okay, the jet is comfortable to sleep in-“
“Nonsense!” Tyr cut Skwisgaar off. “Family stays in the home, not some jet. I’ll have it prepared.”
Skwisgaar, utterly overruled, relented happily. “Alright. I have to go now but I’ll see you tomorrow evening, okay?”
“I can’t wait!” Tyr waved as he disconnected the call.
Skwisgaar never got used to how openly Tyr could talk; it both unnerved and comforted Skwisgaar for some reason. It felt strange being welcomed so readily.
After packing his guitar into a hard shell case, plus two spare guitars in gig bags, Skwisgaar was ready to fly.
—-
“Due to some inclement weather, we must wait a few hours before we can depart.”
The Klokateer before Skwisgaar hung his hooded head in shame.
“Eugh… How longs will we bes delayeds den?” He spoke in accented English; there was no way to know which Klokateer was standing in front of him and no way to know if this was one of the few that spoke Swedish.
“Only about 3 hours, master,” The hooded man’s posture relaxed; there was no malice in Master Skwisgaar’s tone this morning. “We should be in the air by 6:00AM and arrive by 9:00PM their time.”
Skwisgaar was relieved that they wouldn’t be too late; he knew Tyr was usually asleep by 11:00PM and he didn’t want the man to sit awake waiting for him. “Dat’s fine den. Carry ons with makings sure we gets there by den.”
The Klokateer bowed quickly. “Of course, master. Shall I bring you a blanket so you can rest during the flight?”
Only then did the guitarist realize how tired he was. He had stayed up until 3:00AM to talk to Tyr and it was nearly 4:00AM now. As much as Skwisgaar was a fan of nightly activities, he was usually in bed by 10:00PM or 11:00PM, firmly believing that sleep was one of the most important things to staying sharp as he played. Groupies knew that they had to be in the door by 7:00PM if they wanted to join the party and they’d often joked that he operated on grandpa time. The joke never bothered Skwisgaar though. After all, they were the ones begging their way into his bed.
“Ja, dat’s fine, brings them.”
Skwisgaar had hardly finished his sentence when the Klokateer raced to the Dethlinen Storage Closet. Minutes later he was tucked in, guitar and all.
Why ams I nervous? Skwisgaar wondered as he stared at the ceiling of the jet, feeling himself drifting to sleep almost immediately.
—-
“…. mu…. …rth… ..ny…y? I… reds…”
Skwisgaar, ever a light sleeper, awoke to an announcement. Eyes still heavy with the haze of sleep, he had not quite caught what it was and looked around for a Klokateer to ask what was happening but the announcement - or rather, the announcer - immediately became very clear.
“Tokis?” Skwisgaar yelled, shooting up in his seat as he tried to fling the heavy fur blankets off of himself. “What the fucks ams you doin’ here?!”
The Norwegian man, rhythm guitarist and professional pain in Skwisgaar’s ass, sat in the seat next to him, his smile beaming at the Swede’s colorful reaction.
“Goin’s with you to Sweden,” he said simply, shrugging, as if this was a most obvious answer. “What else yous think I woulds be doin’ here?”
Skwisgaar finally unentangled himself from the bounty of blankets that had been cozy only minutes before and were now a weight that was the only thing standing between him and shaking the rhythm guitarist whose innocent expression was only increasing Skwisgaar’s anger. Flinging the blankets to the ground then carefully placing his Explorer on top of them, Skwisgaar put his hands on his head instead of on Toki, pressing his fingers to his temples as a headache immediately set in.
“Tokis, I didn’ts invite yous for a reason,” Skwisgaar said, willing himself to be patient. “I wanteds to goes by myselfs. Alone.” He emphasized the last word.
Toki leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms, mock pouting. The annoyance in Skwisgaar’s voice clearly wasn’t bothering him at all. “Wells, that’s pretty damns selfish.”
“What- I- Skit!” Skwisgaar found himself lapsing into his mother tongue as he dug for a response. “What the fucks you means?!”
Toki stared him down, still mock pouting with the mischievous glimmer in his eyes entirely betraying the sad look he was trying so hard to wear. “I always wanteds to go to dat festival! And you wasn’t even goin’ to tell ol’ Toki you was goin’s…”
“Gods, I…” Skwisgaar was without words. “Eugh. Fines, Toki. But you’s on you’s own, ja? I’s got plans.”
Toki smiled. “Goin’s to see some beautiful goils?”
“No!” Skwisgaar said too quickly, quickly enough that the look on the brunette’s face showed that he had piqued Toki’s curiosity. “I’s going to… No, knows what? None of you’s damn business. Just… gives me some spaces there, okays?”
The way Skwisgaar requested space caught Toki off guard. After over ten years of knowing each other, Toki was familiar enough with the man’s way of speaking to know when he was being earnest.
“Yous can trust Toki!” He said with a salute. “I’s gonna gives you all the space you needs.”
“How many… how you say… bindokulars dids you brings, hmm?”
“Don’ts worry ‘bout it,” Toki said with an innocent tilt of the head. Skwisgaar could only groan.
—-
“Master Skwigelf, Master Wartooth. We’ll be arriving in approximately 5 minutes.”
The miniDethbus that they were riding in felt especially bumpy traversing the rocky roads from the private Dethport where the jet landed to the hamlet where Tyr was from and had moved back to after leaving Serveta. Skwisgaar cast a sidelong glance at Toki whose light tan skin had a greenish tinge; he was starting to get carsick.
“Ja,” Skwisgaar said with a nod, dismissing the Klokateer. “Don’ts puke, Tokis. We’s almost there.”
Skwisgaar dug in the gig bag that held his second Explorer and found what he was searching for. “Here, eat dis.” He dropped a small candy in a green wrapper into Toki’s hand. “Sugar-free ginger candy. Eats it.” Skwisgaar had taken up carrying the ginger candy with him after one too many times of having Toki’s dinner on his shirt. He had a permanent stash of them in the front pouch of every gig bag and had never found that he regretted it.
“Takk,” The younger man said as he unwrapped the candy and popped it in his mouth, chewing feebly.
The last stretch of the trip was especially bumpy but Toki managed to keep his stomach contents where they belonged as they approached a small cabin, brightly lit, with a white-sweatered man standing outside smiling more brightly than the lights in the house, waving at the miniDethbus as it approached.
Skwisgaar felt a lump in his throat as he stood up and flung the second Explorer over his back, pausing as he approached the bus’s door.
Toki saw the hesitation. Air headed as he usually acted, he was more observant than people gave him credit for. “Hey Skwisgaar, hurrys up. I gots to use the toilet.”
“Huh?” Skwisgaar hadn’t realized his attention was drifting away. “Oh. Ja. Let’s go.” and the two bandmates stepped off of the bus.
Tyr jogged to Skwisgaar and held his hands out, not waiting for Skwisgaar to extend his before giving him a double-handed handshake. “You made it!” He said in Swedish. “And oh! I eh, seeing you bring, eh…” He said in broken and halting English when he saw Toki; Tyr understood some English but spoke very little of it.
“Toki,” Skwisgaar gestured back to Toki who stood slightly behind Skwisgaar like a child hiding behind a big brother. “He understands most Swedish, he just doesn’t always speak it well.” He added, speaking in Tyr’s language.
Toki peeked out and replied in accented English. “Yeah, you cans speaks what’s ams most consforktible for yous. I’s understands.”
Tyr crossed over to Toki and clapped his hands on the rhythm guitarists shoulders. Skwisgaar saw him jump at the contact, a reflex too small for most people to catch but that Skwisgaar noticed easily.
“Toki! I’ve heard so much about you. I’m glad you came to join us!” Tyr said in Swedish, careful to speak just a little more slowly than he did with Skwisgaar so he could be sure Toki would understand. Toki looked bewildered, not because of the language but because he, like Skwisgaar, was entirely unfamiliar with this type of person who was so welcoming and open.
“Well, let’s not stand outside at night! Come in already, I have some tea and snacks ready. There’s more than enough for everyone.” He smiled at Toki as he said that, probably having noticed that Toki looked uncomfortable now that he was actually being subject to his plan to sneak in on Skwisgaar’s trip. He had not realized how awkward it would actually feel when he showed up uninvited. The three men went inside to a home filled with the smell of tea and treats.
Everything was so warm - the cabin, the tea, the atmosphere. The frame of reference for his life till then meant Toki didn’t even realize a place could be that warm.
——
“Eugh…” Skwisgaar felt his toes in the air; his feet were poking out the end of the twin sized bed. “He asks me if I gets taller! If I gets any taller, I pokes off the bed on both sides!”
Toki, lying on a bed of identical size in the room with Skwisgaar, lifted his head and looked at the bare toes wiggling from the end of the comforter that Skwisgaar was lying under. “I don’ts know, seems pretty comfys to me,” he said simply - his bed at Mordhaus was the same size as the one he now slept in.
Toki seemed happy, almost abnormally so. Skwisgaar had never seen his quite as happy and talkative as he was with Tyr. “Toki ams probably a better son…” A part of Skwisgaar’s mind whispered. Skwisgaar knew that he was high strung, anxious, pompous, and so many other unpleasant things. He acted like he didn’t know that he was, he pretended that he was perfect in all ways, but he knew who he was.
He had none of the glee that somehow came so easily to Toki, a skill of his that had always fascinated Skwisgaar since he knew the horrors Toki had grown up in and he had seen firsthand the darkness that sometimes ebbed beneath his childlike exterior, bringing bloodshed when it managed to break free.
“Goes to sleep now, ja? And remembers you’s promise-“
“I wills, I wills,” Toki interrupted. He looked over at Skwisgaar whose eyes were open, affixed on the ceiling, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Hey, Skwisgaar?”
“What?”
“I’s gonna draw on your face when yous falls asleep.”
“Om du gör det kommer du att dö.”
——-
Skwisgaar awoke the next morning to find Toki’s bed was empty. He dressed quickly and went to the kitchen to find Tyr sitting at the table sipping coffee and reading a brochure about the festival.
“Morning, Skwisgaar!” Tyr said cheerfully. “Sit down, have some coffee. Do you want anything to eat?”
Skwisgaar shook his head as he sat. “No, I don’t usually eat breakfast.”
Tyr nodded. “I remembered, that’s why I didn’t have anything for you. But I wanted to ask anyway!”
Skwisgaar sipped the coffee. “He even remembered that…” He thought.
“Oh, hey. Have you seen Toki?” Skwisgaar asked, setting the mug down.
The older man nodded. “He headed out this morning, said he had some plans today but said he’ll be sure he’s at the jet when it’s time to go. You have to head out this evening, don’t you?”
“Yeah. The tour starts in a couple of days. Nathan would kill me if I wasn’t back in time.”
“Well, lucky for you, I have the whole day planned!” Tyr slapped the festival brochure on the table. It was covered in circles and markings along with times - all the things that he intended to do with Skwisgaar. “Ready to head out?”
Skwisgaar went to wash his coffee mug but as soon as he turned the water on, Tyr reached over him and turned it off. “I’ll take care of that later, don’t worry. Let’s go!”
Skwisgaar followed the man out the door, hoping that he had seen the brochure wrong and that “horse rides” and “flower crowns” weren’t really circled.
——
For a man of a certain age, Tyr had incredible stamina, probably from years of manual labor. Skwisgaar had already tired out by early afternoon but Tyr was still going with no signs of slowing. Shredding on a guitar did nothing for one’s physical health and Skwisgaar’s graceful limbs were meant for music, not running around a bustling spring festival trying to fit in every single activity that was offered.
8 hours of festivity and the two men were full to bursting with foods and sweets, more than a little soaked in spilled beer, covered in horse hair, still tapping their toes after listening to every musician they could, and wearing wildflower crowns made by little girls who made sure no one left the festival unwreathed.
“Toki would have loved those horses, they’re from his home, after all,” Skwisgaar thought as he remembered the stocky little fjord horses. “I’m sure he was there, probably following me.”
“There’s still a little time before your plane leaves, right?” Tyr asked as he handed his empty beer mug to a waitress.
Skwisgaar nodded in response. “We have to be in the air by 9.”
“Let’s head back to the house, I have something to show you.”
———
There was still no sign of Toki as Skwisgaar and Tyr walked into the cabin, making Skwisgaar even more certain that he was probably at the festival playing with the fjord horses and having his long brown hair braided with wildflowers.
“Wait here, let me go get it,” Tyr gestured to the couch and Skwisgaar sat. A few moments later, Tyr returned with Skwisgaar’s Explorer in its bag and another guitar, a vintage Les Paul. It had obviously been loved for many years and had a patina that gave it a rich finish not unlike leather.
Tyr held the bag to Skwisgaar. “I didn’t want to take it out of the bag, I know you like to do that yourself.” Skwisgaar took it and Tyr sat the Les Paul on the couch. “One more thing.”
He walked around the couch and brought two amps, already plugged in, around in front of where Skwisgaar sat.
“I, ah… I’ve always loved music but I’ve never been very good at it,” Tyr started as he sat down, plucking the strings of the guitar and turning the knobs, tuning. “But…I’ve practiced this. Will you tell me how it is?”
Tyr plugged in his amp and began playing a tune that was very familiar to Skwisgaar.
It was his solo from the Ibiza show, the first show after Skwisgaar returned to the band after briefly quitting when he went to Sweden and met Tyr trying to find his father.
The melody was melancholic, unlike the vibrant and seductive solos that Skwisgaar usually wrote, and it sang softly and sadly on the Les Paul, exuding emotional force even under Tyr’s less learned touch.
The notes sometimes buzzed and his fingers sometimes stumbled, but it was clear to Skwisgaar that this was years of careful practice from a man who knew little of music but wanted to learn this song. Years of listening to a solo that Skwisgaar played only once, that was published nowhere, a solo that Tyr had to listen to enough times to learn it by ear. Years of practice even after the relationship with Serveta ended so bitterly that the connection between Tyr and Skwisgaar should have been severed but somehow had not only survived, but thrived.
Careful to not interrupt, Skwisgaar retrieved and plugged in his Explorer and began playing the rhythm part that he had written to go with the solo even though no one had heard it; he composed an accompanying part for every solo but never shared it with anyone; there was never a need.
The sorrowful strains of the main part were softened by the accompanying piece, the clear and lilting notes from Skwisgaar’s guitar elevating the keening wails of the melody, the two lines blending to something neither fully sad nor fully sweet. Skwisgaar had written the solo intending for it to be sad, wanting to pour his emotions from the trip to Sweden into his music so it could be free from his heart, never meaning for the accompanying part to soften it to the bittersweet and beautiful piece that the two parts created when they were played in unison.
The two men played together, not speaking, filling the cabin with the sounds of a lamentation that Skwisgaar had penned, made into a metal lullaby created by the rhythm that Skwisgaar never meant to share. The song was made whole, the missing part slotted in place by a second set of hands.
They played until the notes ran out and the room was quiet.
Tyr looked at Skwisgaar expectantly. “Was it okay?”
Skwisgaar’s throat was burning. “Yeah. It was great.”
——
The two played together a while longer, rock songs from Tyr’s teen years mostly, and Skwisgaar gave him a few technique suggestions to strengthen his playing. But even as they played together, Skwisgaar was ever aware of the ticking of the clock. It was almost time to go.
Skwisgaar’s Dethphone buzzed, the sound he had been dreading. Lowering his guitar, he sighed. “I have to get going now. It’s time.”
Tyr smiled. The hint of sadness on his face couldn’t outshine the happiness though; he was clearly overjoyed. “I understand, those solos don’t play themselves. What’s your first stop this time?”
“Paris,” Skwisgaar said as he placed the Explorer in its bag, not wanting to speak more than he had to, afraid his emotions would betray him.
Tyr nodded. “Good place to start. Let me put this away then I’ll send you off.” He walked toward his bedroom to put his guitar away.
Skwisgaar spotted a pick on the ground; Tyr had dropped it. As a man who knew the value of a preferred pick, Skwisgaar didn’t want it to get lost so he picked it up and followed Tyr.
“You dropped this,” he said from the doorway of the bedroom where Tyr was placing his guitar on a stand.
“Oh! Thank you, that’s my favorite one. It feels perfect in the hand, you know?” He laughed as he walked back to the guitar which had a shelf above it to hold picks and such. “Of course you know, you’re the musician here.”
Skwisgaar smiled and nodded, glancing around the room to appraise it. It was small but comfortable, decorated in neutral tones with accents of blue. Knick knacks of various types sat atop the dresser and on a shelf in the corner.
Tyr was chattering as he put away the pick, vaguely gesturing at some other musical instruments he had. An accordion, a ukulele.
Skwisgaar wasn’t listening.
A small shelf was mounted to the wall of the bedroom and atop it were framed photos of people who must have been Tyr’s family - his mother, his father (Skwisgaar assumed as Tyr looked just like him), and other people with faces that looked much like Tyr, certainly all blood relatives.
And at the end -
A framed photo of Skwisgaar.
On the shelf with photos of Tyr’s family.
The only other framed photo of Skwisgaar that existed in someone’s house had been at his mother’s, a tiny print that hung next to a photo of Serveta that was at least thirty times the size of Skwisgaar. This photo of Skwisgaar was from when he visited Sweden five years ago and met Tyr and it sat, equal in size and equal in importance, on the shelf next to Tyr’s mother, father, siblings, and others.
Skwisgaar was vaguely aware that Tyr was still talking but he couldn’t rip his eyes away from the framed photo of himself. His throat burned again and he wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling, aware of the tightness in his chest creeping up on him.
“Hey. Uh…hey? Skwisgaar?” Tyr’s voice snapped him out of the state of reverie he had been lost in.
“Yeah! Sorry, was just… thinking about the tour. Lots to do.”
“I bet. I hope you tell me all about it,” Tyr replied pensively, not realizing what Skwisgaar’s eyes had been locked on.
“Of course. I will.”
The two walked out of the cabin to the waiting miniDethbus whose doors were open, no Klokateers in sight.
“Hey… I’m glad you came. Really glad.” Tyr said, hands still at his side, ever respectful of Skwisgaar’s need for space.
Skwisgaar’s heart was full, too full, and the threat of it bursting was growing. “Me too. I…”
Skwisgaar raised his arms and held them toward the older man who showed no hesitation and swept Skwisgaar into a tight hug, careful to not press his hands on the Explorer on Skwisgaar’s back.
Tyr released quickly, mindful of the rare gift he was given to receive a hug from someone who offered them so very seldom.
“I just want you to know that… I’m proud of you, Skwisgaar. You’re a good kid. A great kid, really,” Tyr said, the pride he spoke of beaming out of his face. “You do great things. Don’t forget that.”
The tightness in his chest was at his throat now and escape was going to be necessary if the dam in his heart was to stay intact. “Uh… Thank you. For taking me to the festival.” He said awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of his gig bag.
Tyr smiled, exuding warmth. He knew what Skwisgaar was saying, even if he couldn’t really say it. “You’re always welcome here. Family is always welcome.”
The time limit was up. “I… Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” He started walked toward the miniDethbus.
“Travel safely!” Tyr waved, the mirror image of the day before when he was welcoming both Skwisgaar and Toki into his home. “Call me when you’re home!”
Skwisgaar was climbing the stairs to the bus and glanced back with a small wave. “I will. I’ll talk you soon… D-…” He couldn’t finish the word. “Bye.”
Tyr knew what he meant to say. He stood in the yard watching the miniDethbus until it was lost on the horizon as it drove away. He wanted to see his son off for as long as he could.
————
Skwisgaar sat on the jet. His hands were empty, he didn’t even feel like playing the guitar right now. The lump in his throat and tightness in his chest were still there.
An annoying force plopped itself into the seat next to him. “Toki ams here! I tolds them so we’s can get goin’, they said we be’s off soon.”
Skwisgaar was glad for the company for once; he didn’t want to be alone right now. He smiled weakly at Toki. “Alrights. I’s ready to get home anyway.”
A short while later and they were in the air, flying back toward Mordhaus. They hadn’t spoken but Toki was humming contentedly.
“Where dids you go the whole times anyway?” Skwisgaar asked. He had been curious about it all day. “Were you with thems ponies?”
Toki looked caught off guard - he hadn’t had time to formulate an answer and had no choice but to resort to the worst thing of all: The truth.
“Wells… Akshually… I just beens here. I came back heres after I woke up.”
“What - you little!” Skwisgaar sputtered. “You said you cames along for the festival! Why the fucks you amn’ts even go to it after you follows me here?!”
Toki looked thoughtful, a strange expression that he wore very seldom. “I.. Well… Shit, how to say…”
He lapsed into Norwegian, not confident that he could find the right English words. He knew Skwisgaar understood enough Norwegian after ten years of listening to it to get what he needed to say.
“I knew what you were coming here for, I overheard them when they were preparing the jet. And… I know you sometimes have… Trouble… With this father stuff.” Toki’s hands were in his lap and he was twiddling his thumbs, an anxious habit that always popped up when he was trying to communicate something difficult. “I just… I wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all. I didn’t want you to go alone and I lied about it when you asked because I didn’t want you to worry, you know?”
Skwisgaar coughed, willing the lump in his throat to leave already. He hadn’t ever felt quite this over encumbered by feelings.
“Oh.” He replied in Swedish. “I guess… That’s okay then. Thanks. Thanks for…caring.”
Toki’s smile was more sincere than it usually was, untainted by the mischief that he usually carried in his face. “Tyr seems really nice. He has good snacks too.”
Skwisgaar smiled back. “He is. He’s a good person.”
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. I think I’ll be happy with him as my father.”
“You… Wait. How ams he your dads?” Skwisgaar said in accented English.
Toki looked at Skwisgaar like he was an idiot, not sure how he didn’t understand. “Well, he ams your dads. And I’ms your brother. That makes him my dads too, don’t it?”
Skwisgaar stared at the man next to him whose guileless eyes fell on him, appraised him every day, and somehow always found him worthy. Always.
“…Ja. That’s true, isn’t it?”
Toki nodded, glad that Skwisgaar could understand something so simple. He turned his head to look out the window, once again humming with contentment.