"Um...yeah," Faelan said, reaching behind himself to take a seat, and pouring himself a glass of firewhiskey.
That night, for some reason, he just hadn't felt like going, like facing the coldness he perceived at home when he could stay wrapped up in blankets at the back of Aylward's tent, where he foolishly thought it would always be warm and safe. Safer than the pain of his family's fear and rejection, at any rate. He'd been an idiot, but only a child. He just hadn't wanted to go right then and meet his father, and Aylward didn't make him, but the longer he stayed, the longer his father didn't come looking, the easier it was to tell himself that his family was obviously relieved, that they didn't want him back badly enough to come and get him.
"It had been a rough moon, and I was tired and..." And bloody and aching and hurt, and with Aylward, who understood. "...and not really in any condition to walk home. I wanted to stay a little longer. So I did. And he didn't come."
Faelan shrugged. "That's kind of all there is to it, actually."