Funeral of Hearts

Nairn smiled softly, the slightest of smiles as the boy detailed his mother through his sobs. I never knew that you had a mother, when you were dropped off here. But the woman being sick, explained enough. Not everyone could care for their young, and the Coterie was marginally better than an orphanage or the streets on their lonesome. At least the Coterie gave them a chance.

She sounds like a lovely lady. He mused, glancing to the carefully folded letter. He'd slip it under the boy's pillow; he might want it someday. And it's good that she tried her best, the world's too dangerous a place to traverse alone.

He did not reach to touch the boy, not keen on physical affection. Even if he knew it might help the boy; he'd let Haulean initiate any kind of affection-seeking rather than give it on his own. I want you to sit up, now. And breathe deeper, can't have you fainting because you've breathed too shallowly.

His own mother's death had not been quite as devastating; she had never sought him after he was spirited away. And he'd understood it; as the eldest of a handful of kids in a poor family, with nothing to their name, he was better off. And now, of course, he knew he'd been better off. His siblings, some had not survived their childhood; others turned to substances, and some worked tirelessly at things they hated. Souls sucked dry, and he was not keen on seeing the boy in front of him experience something similar.

You can miss her, but you cannot let the mourning swallow you whole.