Mahdi.
Old man Mahdi.
"Are you lot sittin' around talking nonsense about my son?"
That voice—tough but warm—cut through the night.
The men looked at each other, trying not to grin, while Faqir began to pour cups of tea for himself and the rest.
"Wouldn't dream of it, brother~!"
"Speak for yourself."
Rehan smirked.
"We've been telling whole truths."
Hassan nodded while adding:
"The ugly bits too."
Mahdi grunted, shuffling to the edge of the circle.
"Tch. He was a child."
"Maybe in your time, he was already a man; in ours."
"Yeah... I guess. He grew busy..."
Mahdi sat with a huff, his cane resting against his shoulder.
"Saving your sorry hides, I imagine."
"That he did."
Sinbad murmured.
"Over and over."
They all fell quiet again.
Just for a moment.
Fire popped.
Stars wheeled overhead.
And for a time, it didn't feel like tragedy had ever touched these fathers.
It didn't feel like grief still followed their shadows.
