83 Weakness
He couldn't quite believe it was the 18th. And to think it was Locksley himself who reminded him of the day, he scowled. He had no right to remind him it was his mother's birthday, or that it would have been. Of course, Locksley didn't know- nor would he have cared.
He felt her approach more than he heard her. She brushed past him, her hand falling on his shoulder for a second, and sat down a few paces away. She didn't say anything, didn't acknowledge him outside the brief second her hand had touched him.
She looked a little like his mother- around the eyes and her hair, if it wasn't for all the plaits. He lowered his head onto his knees, only noticing the angry tears when he tasted them. She never moved from her spot but he felt her hand in his hair.
It was hard to say how long they both sat there- crying silently while she stroked his hair- but when he was done she stood and leaned over him, pressing a kiss into his hair, and walked away.