Will smiled. There was an old sorrow in that smile, but it was tempered by warmth. "Reckon you're well up to that job, son." He looked over at his friend, not alarmed, just checking how he was going. Thirty years. Tuck had been on a blissful high since finding his kids, but a loss like that didn't just go away. To Daniel, he added lightly, "You're a father, too. You'll know. If not yet, then soon enough. It's the little things that are precious."
(Robert's favourite food had been treacle pudding. Will had taught him how to find wild berries in the wood, raspberries and blackberries and tangy little bilberries, and some summer days he'd come home with his face and hands stained with the purple juices. He'd liked to be tucked in tight, though he'd always kicked the covers off in his sleep regardless. He'd had a quick head for figures, like his mother, and he had loved to sit at her knee as she worked on the books. Will had made him his own play money, so he wouldn't confuse Lucy's sums, but within a few years he he'd been helping her count out the pub's takings.)