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Reuben St. John (godisindetails) wrote in toujoursliberer,

"I don't know. Perhaps a child to take care of would have eased her recovery." He suggests, leading the boy towards the bench and letting him settle down, his arm slipping away from around Fabian, sitting down next to him. "Perhaps you could have helped each other. But no matter. You're getting better, your uncle tells me so, and that's the important thing now."

Fabian's cheeks had gone red through excersion. Clearly the walk up the sloping path to the bench had tired him, and Reuben could almost sence the boy's quickened pulse. He knew, then, he should have kept his mind blank, those images of the writhing, squirming groaning boy reimerging in his mind with double the potancy. He almost jumped up from the bench, but instead took a deep breath and forced the demons back again, away, far away. "Better not exhuat yourself, Fabian, or your uncle will suspect me of chasing you up and down the hill."