Maybe, she thought, it was her father.
Yukon lay under the palmin tree with her head resting against the roots and her legs crossed at the boots, idly knitting something with grass threads. The sound of the lagoon lapping on the sands nearby took her back to those long, lazy days in Shadow Rock with her father, watching as he repaired boats, darned nets, crafted rods -- Father always did all of his work near moving water of some kind. She'd never thought to ask why, because it had always been that way.
Though she'd never admit it to Kael, she had trouble sleeping when there wasn't some sound about to keep her company. Though their house was not near the sea, Father had kept windchimes hanging from windows, and had built a small fountain and pond in a garden where Mother would often relax, reading. There was always some noise about her, and it helped her to concentrate.
Down in that catacomb, with only the sound of her breathing coming to her ears, she'd come close to a panic. Kael was silent as death, and they'd opted for light orbs rather than torches, so there was no crackle of flame to accompany her, just the dead silence of unmoving earth, solid all around her. She would have imagined herself in a tomb if being in that place was not already a matter of facing death, but she and her master had emerged unharmed. She thought how funny it was that even getting blasted out of the dungeon on a wave of destructive magic still qualified as 'unharmed' for them, but in her tutelage with Kael, Yukon had learned that 'unharmed' meant 'not dead.'
She thought of her father again, humming his little tune as he worked, answering her childish questions about anything and everything. She had been such a curious child, but her father had always obliged her, patient as the stars, and told her everything she ever wanted to know. Ever since he had pledged her to Kael as an apprentice, she'd always had the slightest contempt for him -- was she not a genius, as he was? Was she not capable of learning and actualizing a fighting style effortlessly, as he had? Father explained that her genius needed temperament, and that no one was better to teach her that than the son of the man who had taught him. So in spite of her pride, she submitted herself to the swordsman's tutelage, so that she could perhaps please her father, or even show him that she was a greater genius, who needed no tempering.
When there was no one around except for herself, though, she had no one to lie to, no one to make a show of strength and courage for. No one to impress with her genius and skill.
She was just a little girl who missed her home, and missed the ease of childhood and her father's impenetrable protection.