Kalab took half a step forward, meaning to stop Nehmahati before she did something too foolish. Not yet. His dear heart needed to learn some patience. Kalab could, after all, continue to wear the deceptive veneer of calm despite the sharp, clawing anger at his father; his god. Watching Rorik lay his hands on Nehmahati and doing nothing was the hardest thing heâ€™d ever done.<br/><br/>Glad? Kalab still had the suspicion that the old man didnâ€™t ever want to step down â€“ not that Kalab could know his mind. He thought that might be the reason Rorik had wanted to wait. Mother thoughâ€¦ he believed she had only wanted the best for Nehmahati. But troubled? That was bound to be the truth. He should be troubled.<br/><br/>From behind, Kalab laid a hand on Nehmahatiâ€™s shoulder. He was still somewhat agitated. It wasnâ€™t all Rorik. Kalab was a little worried about the human that his dear heart had been â€“ still was. Some of it was guilt. Heâ€™d lied to that girl for selfish reasons and he could only hope she didnâ€™t know it. â€œLet me know when youâ€™re ready, dear heart,â€ he leaned down and said into her ear, not trying to disguise his want. He was still worried that she might change her mind. Or worse, that she might be angry with him. But he tried to push that thought out of his head.