The tears came next, unbidden and unexpected, flowing like water down a cliffside. His father’s arms encircled him, pulling him into a hug, pressing Ludo’s cheek to his broad shoulder. “I know, Son. I know. I miss her too. Her loss an’ yer brother’s too makes me feel weak in the knees sometimes, like I can’t even stand. Like I don’t want to stand, not if they’re not there too, standin’ beside us.”

Those words hammered into him because they were so…confusing. How could his father, the strongest man he’d ever known, feel so weak he couldn’t stand up?

He felt something wet splash onto his head. Was it raining? He pulled back slightly to find the sun still shining, not a cloud in the sky. Then he saw it, the bit of water trembling on his father’s chin. At first he assumed it was a bit of runoff from their swim, but just then another tear broke free from his eye and streaked down his face, joining the other one before dripping onto Ludo’s cheek.

He’d never seen his father cry, not ever.

“Don’t be like me, Son, pushin’ aside all the hardest feelin’s, tryin’ to stay numb. Ye should feel everythin’. Some of it will hurt somethin’ awful, aye, but it’ll also keep ye alive so ye can feel all the good. Joy, love, peace, forgiveness. I have many regrets, of course I do, but my biggest is not sayin’ this to ye sooner. An’ fer that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Da,” Ludo said. He tucked his head against his father’s chest and held him tight. This time, his eye was dry.

Because he’d made a decision.

Saying goodbye would be too hard, and he didn’t trust his father not to tie him to a chair just to keep him from leaving, so the next day Ludo rose well before dawn, scrawled a note of apology with no details of where he was going, and then slid silently out the door.

He wasn’t usually an early riser, so he was surprised to find a whole new world awaiting him. Dark, cool, peaceful. Not altogether unpleasant, all things considered. He counted out his steps until he reached the edge of ol’ Turrin Crowcatcher’s place. Six hundred and fifty-seven paces from his front door. The furthest he’d ever traveled from home.

The start of an adventure, or at least something new. A life he made for himself, rather than the miasma of tragedy he’d let come to him. He felt bad leaving his father after all he’d suffered already, but to stay felt even crueler somehow. And it’s not like he couldn’t return for a visit someday, after he was settled…wherever he ended up.

With that in mind, he took his six hundred and fifty-eighth step.