Fatherly Asura

It came.

Neither gifted as it usually was by a late evening when the children had gone to bed, which often led to the preparation of nets and crates; mending, preserving fish, or attending to the boat.

Or granted by the [Season’s] wrath.

In times where [Winter’s] frigid grasp spread upon the waters, or the violence of spawning creatures frenzied by [Spring] and the promise of mates or more abundant feedings grounds - during which he would tend to the stall, selling his reserves or aiding those with larger, more resilient vessels in place of his own.

This free time.

Empty moments, strung together in which he could do as he pleased.

Two notes of emotion stirred from it.

One of guilt, for while idle he did not toil towards reducing his family’s debt, and the other. The hampering, deafening absence of his loved ones, which clung to him as though it were a padded blanket.

Thick. A pressure to clot his muscles.

So as the Sixty Third [Spring] Brigade filled his position upon the walls, he just sat, and for long moments at that. Pensive on the week as it was shown through his [Contribution Array].