"Tom...! Tom, sweetheart, you'll be late if you tarry any longer!"
The middle-aged Highlander woman called out to her son from in the kitchen, where she had just finished wrapping him some snacks in red-checkered cloth. Â It was a small room, shared between both kitchen and dining table. The little square table had room for only two, with chairs placed at opposing edges. Reddish-orange light streamed in through the single window, igniting the space in the colors of sunset. The meal had been made with care, and she made sure that it was something that would at least last until the next morning -- even if it tasted a little stale after too long. For her son, her only child, she wished only the best, and if she could provide it in any capacity, she did so.
From another room, a gentle male's voice replied, "Almost ready, mother! Boots..." Sure enough, a tall and uncharacteristically slender Highlander man entered the kitchen. His hair blazed in the same hue as the sun's light, and his bright, enthusiastic blue eyes peered from over a scattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks. Resplendent was he in a set of white and red robes, a replica of his childhood hero, one of the Padjal of old. She had made it for him herself, very almost literally pouring love into every stitch. Only the best for her little Tom, even grown as he was. He spotted the wrapped cloth and beamed. "You didn't have to, mother! You're too sweet. Thank you...!"
"Sweet treatment for a sweet young man," Said Mother. Her smile attested that she meant every word, and she wasted no time in handing over the wrapped bundle. Tom took it, and offered her a hug in return. Nothing could be more of a reward than the love of her child. "Do you have your gil?" She asked.
"I do?"
"Your staff?"
"It's at the door."
"Mister Spriggles, for luck?"
The man's face reddened at the mention of the little Spriggan plushie, safely tucked away in a pouch at his belt. Nevertheless, he nodded. "Always." The confirmation pleased Mother, and she offered him another hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Alright, then. Go, before you end up being tardy."
Tom squeezed back and released her, moving to the door to pick up his staff -- another replica of a relic of old. It held no special ability in particular, but it was a beautiful piece wrought of white wood and golden-colored foil. "I'll be back in the morning, probably. Likely I'll remain in an inn for the night! I love you, mother."
Warmth filled her breast -- to hear those words always uplifted her. Their bond was precious, and was a thing that she knew would remain unbroken. "I love you too, my little Tombleweed."
He flushed slightly and then chuckled, giving a short sort of bow before exiting the little house. The moment the door closed an almost suffocating loneliness occupied the space, unwanted solitude bathed in the red of oncoming dusk. It was nigh unbearable, being separated from her boy, but Mother would endure. He knew how important he was to her, and perhaps depended on her company as much as she did his since her husband did not return from Carteneau those five years ago.
With a little smile, she made a dismissive fling of her hand. "Bah. Silliness. I think I'll enjoy a book until bed." And so she went, able to ignore the emptiness about her with the simple reassurance that in the morning, her dear son would be back.
For no matter what, he would always come back.
The middle-aged Highlander woman called out to her son from in the kitchen, where she had just finished wrapping him some snacks in red-checkered cloth. Â It was a small room, shared between both kitchen and dining table. The little square table had room for only two, with chairs placed at opposing edges. Reddish-orange light streamed in through the single window, igniting the space in the colors of sunset. The meal had been made with care, and she made sure that it was something that would at least last until the next morning -- even if it tasted a little stale after too long. For her son, her only child, she wished only the best, and if she could provide it in any capacity, she did so.
From another room, a gentle male's voice replied, "Almost ready, mother! Boots..." Sure enough, a tall and uncharacteristically slender Highlander man entered the kitchen. His hair blazed in the same hue as the sun's light, and his bright, enthusiastic blue eyes peered from over a scattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks. Resplendent was he in a set of white and red robes, a replica of his childhood hero, one of the Padjal of old. She had made it for him herself, very almost literally pouring love into every stitch. Only the best for her little Tom, even grown as he was. He spotted the wrapped cloth and beamed. "You didn't have to, mother! You're too sweet. Thank you...!"
"Sweet treatment for a sweet young man," Said Mother. Her smile attested that she meant every word, and she wasted no time in handing over the wrapped bundle. Tom took it, and offered her a hug in return. Nothing could be more of a reward than the love of her child. "Do you have your gil?" She asked.
"I do?"
"Your staff?"
"It's at the door."
"Mister Spriggles, for luck?"
The man's face reddened at the mention of the little Spriggan plushie, safely tucked away in a pouch at his belt. Nevertheless, he nodded. "Always." The confirmation pleased Mother, and she offered him another hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Alright, then. Go, before you end up being tardy."
Tom squeezed back and released her, moving to the door to pick up his staff -- another replica of a relic of old. It held no special ability in particular, but it was a beautiful piece wrought of white wood and golden-colored foil. "I'll be back in the morning, probably. Likely I'll remain in an inn for the night! I love you, mother."
Warmth filled her breast -- to hear those words always uplifted her. Their bond was precious, and was a thing that she knew would remain unbroken. "I love you too, my little Tombleweed."
He flushed slightly and then chuckled, giving a short sort of bow before exiting the little house. The moment the door closed an almost suffocating loneliness occupied the space, unwanted solitude bathed in the red of oncoming dusk. It was nigh unbearable, being separated from her boy, but Mother would endure. He knew how important he was to her, and perhaps depended on her company as much as she did his since her husband did not return from Carteneau those five years ago.
With a little smile, she made a dismissive fling of her hand. "Bah. Silliness. I think I'll enjoy a book until bed." And so she went, able to ignore the emptiness about her with the simple reassurance that in the morning, her dear son would be back.
For no matter what, he would always come back.
![[Image: tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png]](https://68.media.tumblr.com/80be4033cdf57fb6268473ef9ce37db6/tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png)
