There's always that hollow curiosity deep down; who are your parents? Will you ever meet your dad? What does it mean that he is absent from your life?

Shirayuki had had a mom; she knew that fully. Just her mom had died, and Shirayuki had been raised by different family members. She grew up with bedtime stories of her mom, with stories as they cleaned the bar together, and prepared whatever needed down for the day.

Shirayuki knew enough about her mom to really miss her and wish that she could have really known her, could have heard her voice, seen her smile, and learned what mannerisms of hers that Shirayuki had.

But her dad, there were less stories of him. Her grandparents didn't know him as well. So she learned bits and pieces and connected them like an old jigsaw puzzle, smiled at the disarray, and hoped for the full picture one day.

Then one day, she saw him, saw his dark red hair that was nearly brown, saw his old gruffiness, heard his grumbling voice, got to see him at a distance. That little bit of a sneaking in, 'She doesn't know I'm visiting, right? And no one odd followed me, right?'

The way that moment imprinted on her memory, the way Shirayuki suddenly felt that absence shrink, even if it wasn't nearly as close as she would have liked. She could be a quiet kid, a nice little girl who didn't stir up too much trouble.

And from the way it sounded, her dad could stir up trouble. But as a kid, she felt almost whole seeing her dad for the first time, like another missing piece was added on. There was danger involved though, and Shirayuki knew enough to know that her dad wanted her safe.

And he probably didn't want her chasing down men that looked like him in order to find him again, so she would behave and hold optimism loosely against her heart.

And then years later, that absence evaporated. She was older, felt more aware of who she was even though how well she knew herself felt so faint as new discoveries abounded and as she grew more and more into a woman that would make her grandparents proud, that would make her mom proud, and she hopes would make her dad proud.

"Dad?" And there's that little bit of awe of just seeing him again even though she still feels a little bit shaken up, even though she's standing before him face to face for the first time. He looks like how she remembers him.

And for a moment, it is like that distance that kept them apart can't be crossed and yet like it already has been.

When she sees the Lions of the Mountains' village, it's like a glimpse into her father and who he is, who he has been, what he is doing. And while festivities are going on, she feels that old jigsaw puzzle get dusted off in her mind, feels her heart still racing from the kidnapping, feels that little bit of childlike wonder mixed with real adult fear, not of her dad. He doesn't scare her, but threats he was trying to keep her safe from do. She still feels them like a whisper beneath her skin, can still feel the cut on her cheek, a minor scrape, something that she knows will heal find, but the wound feels deeper than just how deep the cut goes physically.

And Shirayuki wonders just what mannerisms she has of her dad, as she watches just how everyone around treats him, with warmth and respect, the kind of filial love of a child to one's parents. And she feels a glimmer of that.

Even if this is a little more complicated than it first seemed, there is a chance that the distance will shrink now. And she's old enough to finally stand her ground against the danger, even as she doesn't seek it and looks forward to home in Clarines, looks forward to relative safety once again.

Tanbarun is a mixture of nostalgia, old memories, and pain. Scars that run deeper than wounds. But for a moment, she can try to glimpse what is in her that is a mark of her dad, that resembles her dad just a bit, and it's the renewal of trying to put all those old pieces together coupled with the hope of what could come next.