Happy Father's Day
Thirty feet up the path. She had called him from that far so as not to startle him, but she had startled him just fine. She'd said "Papa," a word she'd so rarely used that at first he took her for a vengeful spirit playing menace against him. But that was because he couldn't see her in the green shadows. She came forward, realizing herself in the light on the path. "Liir." Her more usual term of address, to steady him. "Get a grip. It's just me."
And that's all it was, just her, just his daughter and only child, back from wherever she'd gone more than a year ago. He allowed her to pull him to a standing position.
- The witch of Maracoor












