To say Eight was a shadow would be a stretch. He was hardly of this world – he was a god, overseeing the Valley from the vast skies above. He had no need to attend to the frivolous world below him – he had done his time, made his moves, spent moments roiling the sea. Now, he was merely content to guard – to keep his lady, the Valley, under a keen eye.
However, he knew that there were moments in life where he should come out from his invisible barrier and interact with the world. The birth of his son, perhaps, was one. Well, birth – maybe not. Eight was never the kind of soul who was smitten when children were around. It was true, there were times in his life where he had interacted with the young, doe eyed children of Beqanna. However, it was merely a formality that led the way for him to toy and play with them as he please.
So, no, the birth of Underwood was not something he cared to be around for. He watched, of course he did – as Topsail had pushed and brayed and birthed Eight’s latest prodigy. But he did not care to nuzzle the child’s neck and be introduced as a father. Eight was not much for being a father anyhow. And yes, the years passed and he had watched the child grow, watched Topsail reign, and watched the Valley keenly from above. There was nothing that had passed without Eight’s knowledge. Such is magic, I suppose.
But now, maybe now it was time to meet this Underwood – although Eight knew of his appearance and actions and personality from watching silently – he knew that there were too many fatherless children in Beqanna – and as much as he was lackadaisical at best in his parenting, he would not want Underwood to be blighted like this.
He appeared deep in the woods, the trees around him sprouting new leaves and the forest singing praises of new life. Springtime in the Valley was always alarming – She never seemed to belong here, in this land of dark and dreary.
Eight was never really a polite individual, so it’s no surprise that his homecoming was equally as rude. Stopping in a clearly, he briefly closed his eyes and conjured the image of Topsail and Underwood in his head. With a small tug, he pulled at their atoms – their blood and bone and being. All they had to do was feel the pull of his magic and let go – and they would be transported to him.
Or, I mean, they could refuse and they’d find one another the old fashioned way.