"It's not stubbornness," I said quietly, reminiscing of my own mother."That's just how mothers work."
Cwal did not answer.
"She just doesn't want you to worry. That's all it is."
Cwal's gaze dropped back to the woman sleeping behind the glass.
"Is that so?" he asked.
His voice was flat, but his hands were not.
I nodded once."Yeah. After all, a mother never cries for herself."
When I turned back toward him, my eyes dropped almost immediately to his hand.
He had clenched it so tightly that blood was seeping through his fingers, thick and dark, trailing down his knuckles before dripping onto the fogged glass of the medical chamber.
Each drop landed with a dull tap, sliding slowly before vanishing into mist, eaten away by whatever high-tech filtration this room used.
Cwal did not react.
Either he had not noticed, or the pain simply did not matter anymore.
