He lasted longer than I would have, never being a fan of whiny people, even worse brats, and I may have great reasons to be depressed like that, but letting it consume me was the worst response I could have.
And the boy knew it too.
This time around he brought the food that he made every day, warm and fresh, with even meat and vegetables in it, and sat beside me with a spoon in hand, only for his black almond eyes to turn down and receive the same lack of reaction he has been given from me thus far.
But this time, instead of standing up and leaving the food behind to turn stone cold again, he sighs and sits beside me, one arm over the knee gazing at the hidden entrance of the cave as the wind rustles the leaves, deep in thought.
But at that he turns towards me, looking intensely in my eyes, and after opening and closing his mouth twice he finally chooses his words and say:
