gaza
A good natured guffaw splits Gaza’s sides when his son goes tumbling head over heels. He’d done that many a time, though it was down into the soft, ever-shifting sand instead of hard, compact ground. Briefly, he wonders how well Rucker would do in his homeland - the Desert can be a harsh place at times, and certainly does not have the stereotypical beauty of the Gates. That’s probably why Gaza is so freaking obsessed with the sweetgrass (and also probaby why he’s put on a little bit of weight with his change of residency. He’s a hunk of dad-bod now.
Vanquish would probably just shake his head at him and tell him to do a lap around the edge of the Kingdom to work that fat off. Every day. Multiple times a day. It’s a wistful thought, one that makes him both happy and sad at the same time. Never, he thinks. If he can help it, he will never leave his children alone like that. He’s known Wichita is nearby for awhile now (not many can hide from him these days, unless they have some magic at their side), and he throws her a glance when he hears her laugh. He likes it. It’s… cute.
It is a poor promise to make, and one that Gaza will soon break.
Gaza pulls up quickly, stopping just on the other side of the fallen colt. He noses the boy’s barrel in a roughly gentle sort of way - as if they were two colts roughhousing and playing at being stallions - urging him to get up. “Get up you goof!” Come onnnn, there are things to see and learn and eat and watch and smell. Get up, get up, get up!
If nothing else, Rucker will have this pleasant memory of his father, to tuck away next to his Savta.
vanquish x yael