Those eyes, they seemed so old, so tired, so used up as she knelt, drew the boy into her arms. The moon pin felt cold against his cheek. He didn’t want to cry, but the tears were not to be avoided. It hurt inside his chest where his heart pounded. And hers; he could feel it, faintly, through the material of her coat. Now, he knew, her arms holding him, her hands soothing, allowing no protest, the question would come; for this she had been following him, never letting him from her sight.
