A minute later, Pittman, who felt like he couldn't watch any longer, patted Byron's arm: "It's okay to cry for a bit, but we still have work to do."
"When did I cry?" Byron glared at the little old man in front of him, "I just got a little emotional and couldn't help but feel a bit sentimental!"
"Fine, fine, let's just pretend I didn't see anything," Pittman muttered as he handed Byron a handkerchief, "Hurry and wipe it off, don't let your soldiers see it when you go outside."
"You wouldn't understand without having raised a child…"
Pittman rolled his eyes: "Who hasn't raised one? Didn't I raise Amber—she was nearly ten years old before she learned to talk, and I didn't have such a big reaction as you did."
