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Through the winter bound streets of a city whose name eluded his young mind, Chauhn Clemmings stumbled along through the snow. His poor urchin's boots, a mere collection of strips of fabric and worn leather, bound together with rope, were soaked through, and he was debating whether or not he even had toes anymore. The bite of cold was unexpected and there was little a poor urchin like him himself could do to wrap himself up against the cold, particularly when he had little money, money that he desperately needed to use instead for travel fare back to Imisus instead of shoes. So he stumbled on, his arms wrapped around himself for warmth, not just for himself, but for his little brother, whose ashes were tucked tight underneath all his clothing. He sniffed, his nose red, and he peered around the streets, the peach fuzz on his face freckled with frost.

Then he saw her. A lady. Her face seemed kind enough, he thought, and blindly stumbling around the town wasn't going to do him much good. He needed to get himself and his little brother back home as soon as possible, out of this snow before his entire limbs turned blue with the n** of the cold. His body still ached from the abuse of his kidnappers and he didn't know how much longer he would last on his legs. He needed help.

Stumbling to her, walking on frozen feet, that was more like stumbling with bricks tied to his ankles, Chauhn worked his way over to her. He approached slowly, the way urchins do, and gave her his best humble smile.

"Miss?" he said, his voice warbling, "Miss, please spare a m'ment for me, miss."

A normal response for a woman out by herself on the street, Chauhn was no less swayed by her wary actions. It was a typical response, a welcomed response in comparison to the many who would rather knock a cane upside their heads or kick them into the street gutters, shove them away into crates and laugh at their crumpled forms in the streets. With this kind of reaction, Chauhn could work and hopefully get some meager scrap of good will, whatever it may be.

He stayed a fine distance away from her, respecting her privacy unlike other urchins who would scuttle up and cling onto the hems of their garments, and he clasped his hands together before him in a pleading manner. He discovered a long time ago that begging in this kind of situation would work more than if he were to bargain. Which was strange, when it was orchestrated in his mind, but it worked nonetheless. This woman, not a particularly well-off woman, but a surviving member of the city at least, looked like she could provide something for him. When she spoke, it was with a shivering stutter, a clear hint towards her less than favorable position on the social hierarchy. As an urchin, you trained yourself not to feel bad about whom you were asking and what you were asking for.

"See, mum, ah was taken from my city by three terrible men, tried to kidnap me they did. But ah was saved, mum, and I'm tryin' to get me 'n' my littl'un brother back 'ome, mum. Ah'm freezin' cold 'n' ah can't feel my toes," Chauhn said, saying all he could to garner her pity. When he spoke of his brother, he absentmindedly reached for his chest, where the pouch wiggled underneath his meager clothing, "Ah'm tryin' to find my way back to Imisus, do you know anyone who's goin' to Imisus, mum? Ah can use any 'elp you can spare." Chauhn ended his plea with another hopeful orphan smile, touching the tops of his freezing knuckles to the bottom of his chin.

Judging by the changing expressions on the woman's pale winter-touched face, Chauhn knew that he had a good chance with getting help from this woman. To him, it was set in stone, and his heart raced with hope and excitement. The truth of the matter was, that he wasn't trying to swindle something from her, but get honest help. Chauhn hated to say it, disliked the idea of relying on others for aid when he could try and fend for himself, but he wasn't blind to his current sad position. He did need help, and he wasn't about to be stubborn, stick his nose in the air, and deny it, while standing knee deep in rising snow drifts. Chauhn was a smart urchin, if anything. He knew better.

So, when she stuttered a shaky request, gulped, and reached out for him with a cold hand, Chauhn was overjoyed. He could almost jump and give a small dance for joy if he weren't frozen into place by the snow. Instead, he let his smile grace his cheeks into dimples and he uncurled his hand from his chest, letting his cold fingers wrap with hers.

"Thank you so m-much, mum," Chauhn said, his voice a sigh of relief, "Ah was half convinced ah would freeze out here 'n the snow, mum, 'til ah saw you, that is." He forced his legs through the snow, closing the distance between them. Grinning up at her from his snow-frosted face, Chauhn stammered his meager introduction, "You can call me Chauhn Clemmings, miss. That's m'name, it is."

There were no words to really describe the kind of feeling that bubbled up in Chauhn's stomach, then, the moment her own hand clasped his. Her fingers were so warm...And he clasped tightly, unknowing of his frozen grip, as he was helped out of the deep snow. He stumbled a bit, his feet numb to the frigid snow, and he did his best to keep up the pace along side her as she spoke of her home. A short distance away, Chauhn could almost cry.

He didn't though. He was a Clemmings, and Clemmings didn't cry in front of strangers.

"Ah can make it," he reassured her, his free arm wrapping about his self in a desperate attempt to keep in the warmth from his beating heart. Kind Felicity must've known how very cold he was, because, after several worried glances, she paused and offered her shawl, wrapping it about his shoulders, snug and tight. It still had warmth from her body and the heaviness of the fabric was a comfort. He made the happiest little urchin eyes at her that could possibly be, "You're an angel, mum!" he chirped cheerfully through the chatter of his teeth.

The rest of the journey passed mostly in silence, save for the hum that was coming from Felicity. Chauhn enjoyed the simple tune, his movement urged along by the beat, and his memory fluttered to pages of a time far back when his own older sister would hum. She liked to sing while doing dishes, sweeping, folding laundry...It seemed like she never stopped humming. She was the one who started the lullaby for Clurie as he passed away in the corner of the home, riddled with bleeding buboes and choking for air.

So, in a way, the hymn was welcome to Chauhn, and he listened intently, despite it's warbling tones and sharp notes.

"M'sister used to sing songs," Chauhn commented at the end of her tune, "You 'n' her would've made good friends, ah think."

"'er name was Lynn," Chauhn said helpfully, stepping carefully alongside her. He didn't know what else to tell her of his family. There was no need to lay out his sob story, no need at all really. She was just a passerby, someone who he'd take help from, and pass by, so he decided that she didn't need to know more than her name and perhaps some of the songs that she liked to sing. When they paused in front of the door, Chauhn waited patiently, hopping from foot to foot in a sad attempt to keep his blood moving. The cold had already eaten so much warm from him. Surely, if he didn't speak up, he would be collapsed on the snow bound street somewhere, chattering his teeth into silence as the snow blanketed over him, a frozen grave.

He watched as Felicity plucked out her heavy iron keys and fiddled them around the lock, his breath steaming the air before his face. She was having a hard time holding her groceries and trying to open the door all at once, so, he moved forward a bit and unwrapped his arms from underneath the shall.

"'Ere, mum, lemme help you with that," he said, reaching for the groceries and taking them into his arms. Chauhn held them bread and other things lightly, his body giving a mighty shiver the moment the lock clicked and the door opened. He patiently waited behind her, expecting her to go in first before he was invited in. "Ah like your home, mum," he said again, offering up light topics for conversation, "My brother, Clurie, does too. 'E thinks its big. 'E's just says that though 'cause e's all small."

Chauhn nodded at the description of his sister, the dusty grin on his face saddening at the recalled memories. Lynn was a good sister to him, always watching out for all the siblings, no matter the cost. Without the figure of a mother, Lynn was the next closest thing. She was the first one to rise in the morning, the last one to go to bed at night. It was a shame that the Clemmings all took each other for granted. If they didn't, perhaps they wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. Well, Chauhn at any rate. Since he was the last surviving Clemmings.

Following her into the home with nothing more but a mumble of agreeement towards the comment of his sister, Chauhn took in the atmosphere of the home with an unsteady, but relieved breath. He was expecting more warmth from the small adode, or at least equal warmth to compliment the kindness of this woman's heart, but he was sadly disappointed. The walls were bare and sodden, the furniture well worn and decrepit. There weren't any particularly lively personal antiquities or decorations, and the few ones that were halfheartedly displayed where layered with dust. It rather reminded him of the abandoned homes he sneaked into for shelter in the sprawling town of Imisus, empty of their previous inhabitants. Granted there wasn't that eye-watering smell of decayed corpses or remnants of the plague, but still...This house was musty and just as cold.

But then again, this was a home with four walls, a roof, and solid windows. And Chauhn was equally as grateful.

"You're welcome, mum," Chauhn said. He relinquished the bags to her and stood awkwardly in the living room, continuing his inspection of the dreary home. When she reappeared in the door frame with a posed question, Chauhn's face brightened a bit. "Clurie. M'little brother. 'E says thank you, too, mum, he does." The urchin grasped the pouch on his chest and gestured to his side, the obvious movements of a child who spoke of an "imaginary friend". Except for the fact that Chauhn was quite convinced in the reality of his little brother.

When the quavering lady came closer to him, the shivering skeleton of a smile on her face, to touch his precious pouch of ash, Chauhn almost screamed. There was such a protectiveness about his pouch, especially after the terrifying event of being kidnapped for the very thing that hung around his neck, that he almost snapped his head forward and bit her. There was something else though, holding him back from his animal-like intentions as she approached and gently tickled the bag. She was...playing along with him...Well...more like, to Chauhn, at least, like she believed him. That made him choke momentarily, the reason why he failed to snap out and attack her for touching his precious bag of ash. When she did move away, though, and turned her back to rush over to the fireplace, Chauhn threw his hand over the bag of ash, choking off its excited wiggle of movement.

"Shh, Clurie, 'ush, now," he whispered to the bag, opening up his shirt and tucking the cold bag close to his chest. He didn't want her touching Clurie again.

When he was finished tucking his bag away safely against his breast, he lifted his head up to watch Felicity's frenzied movement near the soot soaked fireplace. As she stammered apologies, her movements jerking with shivers, Chauhn moved over on frozen feet. Offhandedly noting that he could clean the chimney in about two hours, he crouched down beside her and offered quietly, "You need more tinder, mum." Not once did he think ill of her pitiful and hurried movements. He knew well of the broken people the Plague offhandedly created. As he gave her that piece of advice, he glanced around, looking for possible tinder they could use for the fire. Spotting the paper she must have used to keep the firewood on it's it's little iron cradle, as well as more kindling, Chauhn plucked it up and shredded it into big pieces with his fingers. Then he crumpled it and tucked it underneath the firewood and into the cracks.

"Now, mum," he said, urging her to strike the match again, "'nother spark. Strong strokes, make it quick, mum." he looked at her with eager eyes, his frigid breath fogging the air before his face.