GAHRYE
Gahrye bristled, but pulled himself in and didn't bite back. He knew Reece, because Reece was just like he'd been as a young man: His temper flared hot and bright, then faded just as quickly. So instead of arguing, Gahrye just stood there, staring into his eyes, pleading silently for Reece to look past his fear and see that his father wanted what was best for him.
Reece, brittle and stubborn, cursed again, turning away. But moments later, while Gahrye patiently waited, his son turned back, closed his eyes, tipped his head back and inhaled deeply, obeying his father's nudge to read the winds—and clearly hating every word he heard.
Gahrye almost wept for him when Reece's face crumpled.
"What does he say?" he asked his son.
"He says… I'm needed here," he whispered.
Gahrye, tears blurring his vision, nodded and grabbed him in a hug again. "Yes, you are. And I'm glad that you are."
