Stella

"...’tis natural for the young to grow up and then leave. She's not running away, she's making her own way..." Halla’s voice is hushed. "She’ll be here any moment… This may be the last time we see her, so please make it a nice goodbye…"

Zenithral bites his lip. "Right. Of course. Just...her own way..." The half-elven-aasimar arcane archer exhales sharply.

I can make it a nice goodbye...can't I? he telepathically asks Fluphy, his flumph familiar, as it floats supportively nearby.

His eyes widen, as the realization hits him. "The last---?!" He chokes, unable to finish repeating what Halla had just said as tears well up in his eyes. He hadn't wanted to admit it.

He had led militias, fought hordes of undead, and staved off armies of demons. He had traveled across and beneath every corner of the Dale and across the planes, on quests given by the gods themselves. He had faced treachery and heartache, and chose to suffer and give up his life for friend, family, and foe alike, whether or not they deserved it!

But, somehow, he could never seem to show enough love for his own daughter...

The door to the archdruid's and aasimar's cozy home smoothly swings open and a bright-eyed, white-haired girl briskly walks in.

She glances at her parents then pauses, her starry violet eyes dimming.

Was Papa...crying?

Stella had just returned from giving her last goodbyes to her many friends of Kuldahar. Elders giving her baked good for the road, militia men and women giving crisp salutes. Wide-eyed children chasing after her, some giggling, others crying and clinging to her legs, refusing to let her go. She would miss them all dearly!

Now all she needed was her pack and her tome—star chart, spellbook, and journal, all-in-one.

"You'll get my letter to Grandma?" she asks, striding lightly over to the side room where she left her belongings.

"...Yes, of course," Zenithral replies, then pauses. "...I...oiled and wrapped your bow for you. It's on the table."

Ah, right...she should probably bring that too.

"I could have done that myself..." she retorts, stopping and turning to pick up the long package. She tilts her head and partially unwraps it, revealing an old, but well-maintained bow with elvish markings and a violet gemstone encrusted in the handle.

Zenithral furrows his brow slightly. "Well you didn't, so..." He gets a sharp look from Halla. "Er...yes, you could have...I just thought—"

"This isn't my bow," she interrupts. "Isn't this...Alalla's?"

"Well it was," he admits. (In fact, it had been a wedding gift.)

Fluphy the flumph drifts to hide behind Halla.

"But before that it was mine, and—well, I thought now it could be yours! I had crafted it myself and—"

She glowers and grits her teeth. "I crafted mine too," she points out. She steps away from the bow and crouches to aimlessly shuffle through her pack for a moment. "Is it not good enough?"

She stands and walks down the few stairs to her small bedroom, scowling when she nearly trips on one of the many tree roots that "decorated" the aged house.

"You already know Wirrow is going too," she calls back. She walks back up with her own bow slung over her shoulder, then gives a sweeping, wide-eyed gesture with an exasperated smile. "So why are you worried?"

Her bow was painted a sleek, deep indigo. It was newer than her father's attempted heirloom, but ever-so-slightly overbent—to him the imperfection was probably a misshapen mess.

"This isn't about Wirrow!" he says, voice rising. He points an accusatory finger. "You—"

A gentle arm from Halla calms him. "This may be the last time we see her..."

"I...I'm sorry..." her father scratches the back of his head and looks around, avoiding eye contact. "Just...say farewell to your mother."

He turns to head upstairs.

Halla snorts, quickly losing patience herself. "Wait! 'Tis not how we say farewell in this family."

She fixes them both with her yellow-eyed glare. "Zenithral, you knew she wouldn't appreciate the bow. Stella, you're being overly hard on him. Now, at least give each other a hug, or I will turn into a bear and make you."

Zenithral stops and shuts his eyes. She was absolutely serious, and neither he nor Stella were a match for Mama Bear.

But what was he supposed to do?! She was...insufferable! She—Zenithral stops himself, takes a breath, and whispers a prayer of guidance.

Eyes still closed, the smiling image of Ilmater fades into his vision—the One Who Endures. His visit to the realm of the gods was not easily forgotten; he could still see the gods arms, wrapped in cords and riddled with bleeding cuts, but still a warm smile.

The aasimar's expression softens. Ilmatari like himself and his grandmother, Saki, were to take on suffering themselves to reduce the pain for others. That was their way. If that pain was to be in the form of emotion and pride...so be it.

Perhaps that was loving his daughter really meant.

"You...were right..." Zenithral finally admits, his stomach churning in protest. He slowly turns back to Stella and opens his eyes, forcing himself to look into Stella's.

"I'm sorry, my Little Star..." Tears begin to well up in his eyes again. "I was just..." he clears his throat. "It wasn't right of me to ask you to take my bow...You're quite capable, and your bow is brilliant."

He gives a slight, grimacing smile. "I'll...go give Alalla her wedding gift back..."

Stella's expression softens at Papa's words, and the tender nickname—he hadn't used it in years. Then she smirks and raises an eyebrow.

"You gave that to Alalla for her wedding...then asked for it back...to give to me...?" she says incredulously.

"I've had...better ideas..." Zenithral says with an uncertain gesture, sheepishly avoiding eye contact again, then chuckles.

"Like making a campfire on the Great Oak?" she grins.

"We were cold!" he protests with a guilty smile. "I thought it would be a special place to watch the comet shower..." He purses his lips. "And it only burnt up one branch." His eyes nervously flick to Halla, who had arrived later in horror and had to fix the mess.

Stella gives a slight smile and relents, walking over to embrace her terribly frustrating, but admittedly wonderful father and nods. "It was wonderful. I'll miss you."

She then hugs her mother. "But I'll miss mom more," she says with a wink and a wolfish grin.

Zenithral scoffs in mock pain.

Well...partially mock. Stella's words were probably true...but this was still much better. He would never forgive himself if the way he acted before Halla's intervention was his only "farewell".

Either way, her Little Star wasn't so little anymore...He didn't want her to get hurt...but he did want her to grow.

"We'll always be under the same stars," he says, mostly to himself.

"Well, actually, the constellations are a bit different down south!" she points out excitedly, letting her mother go and looking into her stark yellow eyes. "But yes, some are the same."

Stella strides over to put on her pack and picks up her bow and quiver.

"The others are probably waiting," she says, pursing her lips and opening the door. She looks at each of her parents one last time. She did love them...but she couldn't wait to be out of their colossal shadows and see the rest of the world.

"Bye, Mama! Bye, Papa! Look out for snapple gobs!"

The house immediately seems darker with Stella gone. Halla moves close to Zenithral and rests her head on his chest. She does not speak, but her long sigh says everything:

Thank you. And I'll miss her too.