Sybil emerged from the bathroom, freshly cleaned of soot and grime. The dragons were safe in their pens for the night, and the threat of explosions seemed slim tonight. She moved quietly to the nursery and picked up baby Sam from his cradle and rocked him gently. Young Sam looked at his mother with a perplexed expression, not understanding.
It was 6:01.
Sybil hugged her son gently; Sam had never been late before. She rocked Young Sam in the chair, the peaceful back and forth rhythm lulling his soft cries for his father. She looked at the clock again; maybe she hadn't read it properly.
6:03.
Young Sam sucked on his pacifier bemusedly, wishing he were chewing on the corners of his favorite book instead. How would he ever learn where the cow was now?
Sybil continued in her rocking chair, calm on the exterior but inwardly imagining all the things that could be keeping Sam. Only something terrible could keep him out this late – he could be hurt, or dead, or dying… and she was just sitting here! The dread nearly forced her out of her chair and straight to Vetinari. She forced the panic away, shoving back down into the pit of her stomach before it could claw its way up and out. He would come. He always came. He always came back and he always read to his son. That was how things were. It was a fundamental law of the universe. You may as well ignore gravity. She glanced at the clock.
6:07.
She jumped out of the rocking chair and grabbed the baby bag. Something had happened to Sam. Havelock would know. He knew everything that happened in the city, usually before it even happened. She bundled Young Sam quickly as she could and raced to the front door and was halfway down the hall before the door opened of its own accord. Sybil stared at the emerging figure against a backdrop of light rain; Young Sam let out a happy squeal, arms outstretched as though he'd always known everything would be alright.
"Sorry I'm late. . ."
They're such a cute family. ^.^ - SilverInkblot
