An icy wind mocked the thirsty flora, yellowed and crackling, beneath an inky sky, whistling through the ragged canyons. The last torch lit between the Highbridge and the Wellwick Woods was the only comfort to the wayward son of Ala Mhigo, its flame a meek light and even weaker warmth.
The Highlander glanced beneath furrowed lids towards the sky, stars suggested his recipient late to arrive. Patience was no longer a virtue of the once proud monk, for thrice his betrayals counted since his strike against King Theodric, as if Rhalgr himself sought to punish him. First the loss of his first love, Ember, then Garlean's intervention of the civil war, and now, who would have been a new love, turned out gilded and laced by Garlean funds, the woman would have the audacity to arrive late.
The monk gritted his teeth at the prospect, contemplating his ill fortunes, when the light footsteps of a chocobo pulled carriage neared. Drawn into view by the flickering light, the Highlander gave a steely glare at the familiar driver, who averted his own eyes.
The chocobo let loose a slight whistle as her reigns ordered her desist, and the carriage rocked, a light coo sounding from inside. as the woman, for whom the monk waited, disembarked.
His fists clenched tightly at his sides, he readied to reprimand the Midlander woman, but he caught his tongue, as his gaze met with the swaddled bundle held against her bosom.
"You're late Beatrice." He rasped in a choked whisper.
The look of detest on Beatrice's face was palpable. "I've been had to pay off three chirugeons and six Wood Wailers for their silence, Urban, I shan't deign you to speak against me freely." She nonchalantly rocked and shushed the babe, riled by her retorts.
Urban's eyes fixed upon the infant as the woman approached him, his scowl softened as he saw his likeness. Reaching out to it, Beatrice surrendered the babe to Urban without hesitation. "Thank you," he spoke, eyes clenched as though it hurt to say such formalities, and to her, it did hurt him.
"Save your thanks, that beast nearly tore me in half."
"Have you named him?"
"Why should I?"
"Hmm, a Gyr Abanian 'beast' that nearly tore you in half? I'd fain call him Bear."
Beatrice's face stoned into a sour expression, "As agreed, you will not call on me for aid. Your son will ne'er know me nor my daughter."
Urban nodded, "As we agreed."
Beatrice gave a stern nod herself before turning away, climbing back into the carriage.
As the sound of scraping chocobo talons faded, time stood still for the monk, his eyes grew wet, looking down at the babe, and his chest felt a joy he hadn't experienced since he was with Ember, he almost didn't notice the package of supplies and sundries Beatrice had laid before the carriage took off.
"My little Bear." Urban softly cried.
Great start. Looking forward to more.