Mitchell moved willingly where Samandriel guided him, stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the heat of the boy's body. His fingers traced the scar on his throat. "Heaven," he repeated, unsure if he was understanding Samandriel. "Heaven did this to you? Angels?"
He'd never met one before, didn't know anyone who had. His other hand continued to stroke the boy's back, not exploratory, but comforting.