Author's Notes: Yes, I know. It's very short. But I couldn't get this mental picture out of my head. It's been nagging at me; I had to write it.
Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Spoilers for Ike Soren support.
Discaimer: I own no one.
Firsts
Soren watches as they pass the little alleyway, dusky red eyes half-lidded, and counts their footfalls.
None of them slow, but the child has long since stopped expecting them to; it would be strange, now, if the steady strides were to falter.
The whole world is tilted sideways, and from where he lies the boy can feel the cool press of dirt on the side of his face. Dimly, he is aware that this should frighten him- that he should be alarmed that he lacks the strength to sit up again- but the child is hungry, and he wants very badly to sleep, and somehow he cannot find the energy to care.
When the voice speaks for the first time, it comes as a surprise to him. Because the sound is soft, but Soren can hear it well enough; almost, he is inclined to believe that the speaker is beside him.
He does not turn to look.
Because the man must be speaking to another, and their conversation has been overheard; that is all. They will pass soon, and Soren will realize the mistake for what it is. Words so kind cannot be meant for him.
But large hands are on him, then- are lifting as though he weighs nothing at all, bearing him up and away from the cool of the dirt. The touch is unexpectedly careful, but he makes a quiet sound of alarm all the same; it has been far too long since the child has been held, and he certainly has no reason to expect the contact to be gentle.
The reassurance, when it comes, is not gained through the man's words, nor in the concern that shows on his face.
It is offered by the boy that trails along beside his father- in the warmth of fingers not much larger than his own, as they slip carefully up to hold his hand.
-end-