The journey to the Pack House felt much longer than usual.
Perhaps because this time I wasn't simply delivering herbs.
This time we were leaving home.
Even if Mother insisted it was temporary.
As I went through the village, I thought of father and wondered where he was.
Where he was even going to stay?
When I got back home I was going to try reasoning with mother.
He was father after all.
His leg.
He had been a happy craftsman.
Making beautiful boats and Furniture.
It was his goddess given talent mother had called it.
Unfortunately he had had an accident one day and his leg was gone.
It became difficult to do his work.
One of the few things that made him happy.
Mother had consoled him and tried her best to heal his leg but eventually been unable to.
Soon he had slowly begun to resent her.
Resent himself.
He went to the one place no one should turn to.
Drinking and whiling away his life.
It broke my heart.
