*paces a short line back and forth at the station with her coat slung over her arms and her scarf still wound round her neck, the wool all gone a bit damp with melted snow*
*has spoken with you over the phone several times, now, but really has no idea what to expect in person (you could barely hold your head up, last time she saw you)* *thinks it doesn't matter what you look like, though—you're coming home*
*aloud, as though to herself* Shouldn't we be able to see him by now? *pokes her taller companion* You, boy, with the legs. Do you see him?