After another month, Claud returned.
An important man returning from an important mission, his presence could not be missed. A tall, blond priest with a dour face stood out (she took umbrage with calling the Father's face as dour).
Being herself and nothing more, she wasn't high on the list of people to see Claud; word spread on its own that the Grannvaleans were not anymore welcomed in Grannvale than when he left. Azel bit his nails in her room.
She wanted to see the Father, so she did; after Azel left, she took a quick stroll to his quarters. For being unexpected guests in Sailane, she couldn't complain about their lodgings. Smaller than her suite in Friege, but her rooms alway felt too large — pristine, lonely.
Claud being Claud and nothing less, he let her in with minimal shuffling. Up close, his face verged on dour a bit , the weight of Lord Bragi's revelation and his unsuccessful trip to Belhalla on his mind. "Tailtiu," he said, the way he did.
"Claud! You look like you kept out of trouble." Unlike her and her couch, suited for midday naps (if she still took them; Silesse's nights froze her to the bone, heavy against a roaring fire, uncertain if she'd wake in an hour, four, or never), the Father had chairs. She sat herself down in one of them, tugging her shawl around herself.
"I wish it were the case, but I do not think your tomes would have rescued me." He was out of his frock and into his nightgown, only noticeable as it showed a hint of ankle.
"You don't know that." He knew it. "But you can tell me all the ways your trip went wrong, and I'll tell you how an Elthunder could've made it gone differently."