Coal black eyes met mine; burning with something I couldn't quite comprehend.
He wiped his face on his sleeve, trying to pretend as if he hadn't been crying at all.
"Don't let them get to you," I whispered, with a little malice, "They don't understand anything."
I knew this from my own experiences with the gossiping hens. They had spoken of my mother in much the same manner when she had passed.
I had never quite forgiven them.
The boy continued to stare at me, with those coal black eyes that seemed to burn themselves into my mind.
Can't he talk?
"What's your name?" I asked him quietly, taking his hand and leading him to my father's empty study where we could talk without worrying about the prying ears and eyes of gossiping hens.
"Leon."
I grinned, so he can talk after all!
"I'm Maria."