Rehoboam had departed from the Harbor in the early hours of the morning, when the sky had been little more than a dusky purple-gray. He told himself that he was only coming to the Crossing to check for word of Theseus, and to see if he had become a grandfather twice over. Once he reached the main island, however, he found his pace stalling and his conviction wavering.
After spending so long so closely bonded to Theseus, he was struck by the absurd fear that his son wouldn't want to see him. That he would have grown past any need of his father or his advice or his company. And though Rehoboam was fairly used to his children being apathetic about his presence, given his less than stellar parenting, Theseus was different. Unlike his other children, Theseus had been with him from the moment he breathed until the moment they parted.
The thought of Osiris' disgust on Theo's face was heartbreaking to consider.
And so he waffled, dallying near the Falls while staying as distant from the Lagoon as he could. He doubted there was anyone left who remembered him, let alone anyone who would care to do anything about him if they did remember, but it was always better safe than sorry. He'd spent too many years trying to make sense of that swamp, and he had no desire to return to it now.
He found the shoreline of the creek that bled the Fall's runoff, and followed it absently, his thoughts somewhere else as his feet followed the trail. He likely would have gone on in that vein had his subconscious not registered a particularly strange rock in the middle of the flow, but it did, and so he stopped, squinting at the horse-like rock for a long moment until some glimmer of light managed to illuminate a hip long enough for him to recognize who it was.
Shenzi.
Rehoboam froze as if he'd been caught doing something that he shouldn't, and stared. The last that he had heard, she had returned to Nyimara in the Desert, but he'd never been brave enough to bridge that gap, too afraid that the silver witch would learn of his existence and chase him down once more. Given how big the pile of regret was that he carried, tossing his failure to seek her out on top had been a small thing.
But they weren't on Salem anymore. And Nyimara wasn't here.
"You'll catch a cold out there," he called lamely, stepping forward himself until his forehooves were pressed into the seam of water and land. There was more he should say, that he wanted to say, but nothing else came out and so he stood, awkward and strangely afraid, waiting to see her reaction.