𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙢𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩-𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙨 || ʲ. ʰᵒˡˡᵃⁿᵈ

• • •

          Sarah. . .Sarah was a difficult woman to understand.

          The day Sarah Sharpe fetched you from what remained of the Poison Orchid was a sad one, but she sadly recalled every single detail of it.
         
          The sky above her was gray as she stood on the quarterdeck waiting for the captain to finish her current conversation, clouds hanging low and heavy with the threat of rain. From hushed conversations and murmured whispers from the crew she can confirm that the ship barely survived a beast, larger than anything they've ever seen and more violent than anything they've ever faced. There were some hunters with tears streaking down their face, and others who talked and mourned of the ones they've lost.
         
          They spoke of names she wasn't familiar with, and names she couldn't care much to remember.
         
          The captain was finally free, and she goes to approach her.
         
          The conversation was hushed and had in the privacy of her cabin, the woman's voice soft and low as heavy bags hung under her eyes in contrast. This was a woman who faced loss, but from the two kids that slept on her large bed, Sarah could say that some of that somber look was of bittersweet gratefulness. 
         
          They led you to the room you had been staying in, smaller than your original one but with not much else in difference. The doors hinges reeked of age as she slowly swings it open with an obnoxious creak, the woman bracing herself for whatever might've met her on the other side.
         
           What she didn't expect though, was you sitting on the edge of your bed staring blankly at a wall.
           
           You hadn't even turned in her loud, creaky announcement of her presence, and continued to be unaware of her even as she closes it and enters the room.
           
           Your belongings were packed and ready on the floor beside your feet. The bed was made and you were dressed, and you sat so perfectly still Sarah thought that you might've been unconscious. But then she looks up, and her heart broke at the sight.
           
          Heavy bags hung under your red and puffy eyes, lips crusted and dry and face nothing but a blank expression. You'd been crying, and now you ran out of tears. Sarah could note the bandages that peeked from under your sleeve and the collar of your shirt, but she knew that a simple injury wouldn't have been enough to make you cry this much.

          Gods, two years away and this was how she first sees you again?

          . . .
         
          She remembers what she was holding in her hands, and came to a bitter conclusion.
           
          No words were exchanged as she hands you the wrapped item, the moment long and quiet before you even took it from her. It took an even longer time for you to finally open it, but Sarah was patient. There was clearly history here, and even from the vague descriptions from the captain, she could tell that whatever this was would be special to you.
           
          And, well, it. . .it didn't exactly look special.
           
          Inside it was the cut-off end of what looked to have been a wooden bow, some carved words incomplete from the damage sustained. Beside it was some rocks that took her too long to realize was a bracelet. But that didn't matter. Because the moment your eyes landed on it she saw you crying again.
           
          It started with the tears. Then the shaky breaths. Then before she knew it you were cursing and wiping your eyes, coughing and sobbing as seeing these two things unlocked memories of something you'd rather not recall.
           
          . . .
           
          Sarah was a difficult woman to understand.
           
          She was the woman who looked at a dirty seven year old on the street and decided they shouldn't just leave her. She was the one who bathed you, dressed you, fed you, raised you until you could fend for your own. For your first few years on the Inevitable she was the closest thing you've ever had to a supporting figure in your life.
           
           And yet she refused to be called a mother.
            
           She was loving and she showed it, but not with encouraging words or pats on the head. She was supportive and caring, but in a way a friend would to another, than a mother would to her offspring.
            
           And she never, ever, hugged you.
            
           It was a sad reality, but one you've accepted as your own. Sarah raised you and loved you, but you knew she'd never be able to bring herself to show it. And you were fine with that.
          
           Yet in this very moment, seeing you so. . .so vulnerable, she surprised even herself when she sat down next to you and pulled you close to her. Still no words were exchanged as you sobbed into her coat, incoherent ramblings of an apology and all your regrets being all that she heard above the wordless wheezing and hiccuping.
          
           And there she held you, hugged close and a hand running down your back until you fell asleep. It delayed the travel back to the Inevitable, but she knew that you needed this.
          
           . . .
          
           Sarah was a difficult woman to understand.

note ; boom have some y/n lore
this'll make sense in future chapters literally just bare with me
full disclosure, theres another murmurs of the past for tomorrow before i publish chapter 7
im extra and i have a quota to fill literally what do you want from me

anygay yeah thats is. cheers!