When Roland comes for us in the morning, the boy from the night before is standing behind him, his head bowed respectfully and a bowl of freshly-made broth in his hands.
He shuffles up to Celeste's bedside and presents it to the sleeping wizardess, offering it up with a soft murmur of: "Good morning."
"For her?" I ask quietly.
I hardly need to ask, though, the way his gaze is fixed on her sleeping form.
The boy nods, adjusting his grip on the wooden bowl. "Yes. I made it myself. My mother's recipe. It's not much, but...well. Hopefully it can help her..."
He swallows, nervously glancing over to where Celeste is laying, before turning his attention back to the warm broth. "I also...er...wanted to thank her...for saving my mother's life."
The boy's throat bobs noticeably, his eyes growing slightly misty as he continues to stare at Celeste, seemingly in awe.
