Enrico trembled for a moment, then he turned around very slowly.
Under the dim light, he opened his wounded eyelids and looked at the gentleman who was walking towards him.
He hadn't seen him for several years. He was no longer weak or pale, and his soul had become more restrained.
The boy had grown up into a mature and stable person, and the only thing that overlapped with his memories were the deep pupils of his eyes.
Enrico raised his sleeve, exposing the palm of his left hand that had been cut off with the two remaining fingers.
He wiped his eyes, trying to make a voice out of his throat, and waved at the man.
Jean stepped on the fallen leaves, standing straight in front of the old man who was much taller than him.
Uncle Enrico reached out and patted his arm twice, then squeezed his strong muscles and nodded.
Even though he couldn't say anything, his joy was beyond words.
