Concentration

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"Take a moment," she said, brushing her soft hand over his hair in absent encouragement. "Just concentrate."

He wrinkled his slight nose, large, feminine eyes focusing on the crystal pendant as though to find the source of a riddle within. "But it doesn't make sense, Mum," he protested, finally, turning his slender face up to her.

"It will," she insisted gently. "If you would just give yourself time to concentrate on the matter, everything would make sense."

The boy hesitated, cupping it once in his small hand. "Everything?" he asked finally, dubious.

She laughed quietly, rustling his hair. "Yes. Everything."