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Theolain
Theolain was hurt. No, not the hand. He was hurt that the man told Mother the wrong story. Theolain explained everything to him, how the stick was not supposed to bite, and how it tricked him. He knew he should not touch fire. The stick was not in the fire, though. Did the man not understand what he said?
Ledwyn
Ledwyn was surprised to see that the twain next to her son could hardly be called grown men. Although one was clearly older than the other, he was barely out of boyhood. Neither looked old enough to be a Rider.
When she heard the story she wanted to hold Theolain close and at the same time to slap him. How many more times can he burn himself before he takes the lesson to heart? But all other feelings were pushed out by a sense of simple gratitude to the two boys. They were strangers to her and Theolain, yet they took care of him as though he was one of their own. A basic act of kindness, and yet not even all wizened old men could boast such. “Thank you,” Ledwyn whispered.
She crouched down and held Theolain’s hand fast in the water herself. The boys did not speak. But before they could leave she addressed them herself:
“I am called Ledwyn. This is my little troublemaker son Theolain.” She was smiling despite the words, ruefully at first, but more merrily with each moment. She thought she must have looked like a fool, kneeling next to a burnt toddler and grinning from ear to ear, but the absurdity of it made her smile the harder. After all, what was wrong with smiling? Theolain was not hurt that badly, and he will harm himself many more times and much worse before he grows to be a man. After so many injuries it was difficult to take each one of them gravely.
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