He didn’t have the voice to say ‘ow’, and a part of him wouldn’t have if he did. She was holdin’ him and wanted him, and she came to make them go away. Maybe they wouldn’t eat him now.
Sniffling, he managed to finally raise a fist, the other clenched so weakly against her- but it didn’t- he didn’t want to let go. She was more his mummy then Mummy had ever been. His other fist rose, to rub at his eye and he whined, whimpered. And he itched. “Miss Verty, can I scratch now?” He asked, voice cracking, trying to look up at her with tired, deadening eyes.