He sprinted up the hillside, stumbling as he crashed through the undergrowth.
The town was quiet in the early morning, the faint dewy mist lifting as the sun rose. His footsteps pounded along a well-trod path, kicking up gravel.
The wall that rose ahead was familiar, grooves rubbed smooth over the years. He scaled it easily, latching onto the tree that grew just behind it.
He flicked a rock at the window.
He swung his legs from the tree branch, a comfortable spot, a secure hiding place for him to create worlds spun from the tip of his tongue, a place from lifetimes ago.
The curtains parted, and the window creaked open.
He hopped onto the window still, gliding into the room.
She stared at him; she wasn't crying or laughing like he would have imagined, replying this scene over and over in his head.
Her hair was pale and thin, her skin stretched tight over sunken cheeks.
He pulled her gently into his embrace.
He held her as she shook, laughed, cried, and then laughed again.
Her fingers dug into his back as she sobbed into his shoulder. He could see the criss-cross of scars gathered along her arms from needles and stitches for where her skin had tore.
She had always been frail, and it seemed like he had come just in time.
He had gotten her letter a year ago, ink-stained and faded. He had thought that he would have been too late – but that was a year ago, and time had taught him that hope held even under the heaviest weight.
Her lips parted and breath wheezed unevenly through her throat. She was the first to speak. "I…" She swallowed, licked her dry lips.
He offered her a smile, a better brighter truer one than that from their childhood memories.
"I have so much to tell you! All those adventures!" He spread out his arms and planted his feet wide apart.
She looked up. And then, she smiled through her tears. "Welcome home."
"I'm home." He grinned, shadows of a claws and pain and hurt raking over his eyes. "I'll protect you from anything."
"This time, I'm not afraid."