《 Content Warning: This one-shot's plot revolves around child abuse and near-death. 》

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"Ee's got a mouse's marrow, don't he?"

"Aye. And ee's 'bout sharp as a cudgel."

"Ah, but the lad's got an iron stomach. 'Ee's been 'elpin' meh set the bones - 'asn't cried yet."

A warm weight landed on Tommad's head, ruffling his thicket of hair. He leaned into the touch, savoring this rare morsel of praise.

"Thankin', Otteg." His voice was meek and frail.

Tommad fidgeted the dusty sash that coiled his chest. behind the squadron as the vitriol wafted overhead. A whelp's heart in a warrior's body - that's how ol' Ottegar had described little Tommad.

A mutter of resigned agreement His fingers wandered the soft, singed linen.

He should have died then.

The firelight was faint and fading, a dim point in his mind's eye.

Her voice was rippling, warping, melding into a quiet crackle, and she was gone in a warm blur.

That was Auntie. Auntie Blank. Her voice wavered in hysterics.

May the stars forgive me. I know I never will.