A/N - A timely update for once. I hope to update once a week/fortnight. I was originally going for a more lighthearted theme, but I'm saving it for next time.

Regret

Regret is something upon which Fran often reflects, though in viera culture there is no such concept. You moved forward and did not look back, for the Wood always guided her daughters toward the right course of action. Yes, long before she learned to shape the word in the strange hume tongue, she had known it well.

A pair of couerl kittens, playing. She is drawn in by their curiosity and pure vitality, and quite unable to tear herself away. One begins splashing in a nearby puddle, and with an arrogant paw, flicks a few droplets onto its companion. An all-out battle ensues. She wonders idly where their mother is, but it is late so she returns to Eruyt.

She retraces her steps the next day, wondering what had become of the cubs. Entering the clearing...she finds them slain. She scents traces of cold iron in the air, the poisoned barbs of hunter's arrows. No doubt hunted for their pelts. Sickening. If only she had-

Her fists clench tightly. She was careless and thoughtless. She failed to protect the children of the Wood. Distressed, she runs in great, loping strides to the village and tells Jote what has taken place.

Jote sighs, stroking Fran's hair as she weeps. "You are young yet my sister. Life, death, such is the way of the Wood. You must walk on."

"Walk on? But-"

"Walk on, my sister. Do not look back. All that happens is as it should."

Time passed,

It was her first tentative steps into the world of Humes that introduced her to this emotional peculiarity. Humes were constantly wishing they had done something differently, always looking back upon the past with crinkled brow and downturned mouth. A father sees his son and wishes for the days of his strength and youth. A mother looks upon her babe and wonders how long ago she danced at the midsummer fair, catching the eyes of all the young men by the fire.

Fran would sometimes find herself in a hume city, wishing ardently for the forest and the sky.

For a time, she wanders through the deserts, but they burn her skin by day and chill her to the bone by night. She marvels at the wide expanse of the Giza plains, but soon they flood and become too dangerous to wander alone.

Fran only returns to Golmore Jungle once, and that is alongside her travelling companions, the Princess, the orphans and the Captain. Balthier had known it was her home, known very well that she had left one day and never returned, but it still does nothing to quell the stinging rejection and embarrassment of having her passage barred. What was once as familiar to her as the inner workings of the Strahl is now cold and unyielding. Balthier chatters, tries to reassure her in his bantering way, but she can only reply with the same measure of coldness that she feels emanating from this jungle.

She can feel a heavy weight pressing on her chest, interrupted only with the beating of her heart. She wants to be as one with this place once more, wants it so badly that she feels sick. Still, she forces it back down.

They make camp in an abandoned clearing. The young ones are glad they have found an old hut to take refuge in, even if it is a little cramped. The Captain, as ever, opts to take first watch, and settles into his vantage point. Everyone is chattering and happy. Why is everyone chattering and happy? 'Humes are loud and noisy creatures,' she thinks uncharitably, despite the fact that they are scarcely speaking louder than a breath of a whisper.

She wanders off. She can easily tell that Balthier has followed her. She knows the sound of his tread too well, lazy, long-limbed and deceptively efficient. Turning on her heel, she confronts him angrily.

"I wish to be alone,' she hisses. Balthier looks a bit hurt, and it is a measure of his trust in her that the suave smirk does not make an appearance to hide it.

"Fran, you're- crying," he says, sounding a little wobbly and uncertain, as if he would never have expected it of her.

Fran touches her hand to her face. There is wetness there. "I do not...I never-" she says a little wildly. But she remembers, suddenly, two couerl cubs playing in a puddle. "I-" she tries again. She looks down at her hands, feeling the pressure in her chest and behind her eyes build up once again.

A firm arm circles around her, helping her sit gently on the ground. A handkerchief is produced, which Fran uses to roughly wipe her face.

"I thought you gave it to Penelo," she says, absurdly remembering something so inconsequential.

"A gentleman must have a handkerchief for every occasion," is all Balthier says.

Fran finds herself unable to say anything, so foolish she feels all puffed up with hume passions. Instead she takes a breath to fill her aching chest.

"The occasion is that you are upset. I-do not want you to be upset," Balthier adds.

She exhales. The anger drains away.

"Fran."

"I am a daughter of the Wood." Her words come out haltingly. "But she has rejected me and I am as nothing to her."

"I thought as much, however you have known this for quite some time. Tell me, what is the real reason?"

Damn the hume! She could never lead him off with such a tiny admission. And yet...

"I...regret leaving," she states baldly.

There is a long pause, the seconds counted in her laboured breath. She feels Balthier shift beside her.

"I regret leaving Archades, you know," he says finally. Fran is surprised.

"You have always seemed...pleased to have liberated yourself," she says, startled. Truly, the sky pirate finds plenty of opportunities to throw, 'At least we're not in Archades!' into their conversations if a heist has become particularly unpleasant.

"Oh yes, pleased would be an understatement m'dear! However, there are oft times when I-wonder what it would have been like, had I stayed..."

"I feel...the same," Fran says tentatively. There is still an ache in her chest, as if something has been taken from her. "And yet I feel alone."

Balthier places his hand under her chin, turning her head to face him. "And yet you are not."

She is no longer young and fragile, breaking at the sight of pointless death. She does not weep. Her sister is no longer here to soothe her fears. Eruyt is no longer her home. And yet despite the lack she feels warm and comforted as this hume gently strokes her hair and murmurs in her ear.