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Keeping quiet as the woman celebrated her success with the flames, the boy sat back on his haunches and admired the splutter and like of the growing fire. He hadn't seen a flame in so long. Sure, he remembered the candles and the flame in the lamps around his home's district, but a real fire in a hearth hadn't been presented to him in ages, and a fire here, in a land of ice, was nothing short of a blessing. In fact, the last time he had a real fire in a fireplace was...

Chauhn brought up his hand to his chest, feeling the bag of ashes beneath his thin shirt.

A few moments passed as he fought to keep himself from remembering, hardly noticing as the frantic little woman disappeared from his side and moved throughout the home. He was in a place where he couldn't see anything. So focused was he, on keeping back the details of that memory, that he didn't even notice the shaky instructions presented to him. A deep rooted pang stabbed through his heart, and his efforts faltered. The sounds of the crackling wood, the pop of flesh as what little fat underneath it boiled, the curl of blackening skin over nails that split like popcorn kernels...

Gripped by what only could be described as absolute grief, Chauhn lifted himself up from the floor and scrambled away from the fire like he would run from a wolf. Clambering onto the couch and turning his gaze away from the flame, Chauhn buried himself as best he could into the moth eaten and frozen fabric of the rickety furniture. Giving a great shiver, he was snapped up from his garish memories at the sound of the kind woman's voice returning back to the room. It took him a few moments to digest what was being asked to him, but with a swallow and a shake of the shoulders, Chauhn opened his mouth to answer.

"From Imisus, mum," he replied, his voice garnering strength as he spoke, "Ah know ah don't look it, but it's just me 'n' the family whot has paler 'air 'n' all, just me wit' the eyes. Ah can't tell you why, m'self, but m'brothers 'n' sisters all 'ad dark 'air. We all 'ad green eyes, though, 'n' ah don't know why that, either. Ahm tryin' to get back 'ome, mum. Ah need to get back home. As soon as possible. M'family's there." Of course when he said family, he was referring to their poor burial plots, which was actually a ditch outside the village's perimeters. Home is were the family is.

"Is'n there a trade caravan, mum? That ah can catch from 'ere, back 'ome?"

Taking the blanket, Chauhn kneaded his fingers into the moth-eaten fabric, grateful to even have this thin thing to wrap around his sore knees and thin legs. As he tucked the fabric as best he could around his little body, he kept his eyes glancing back at the frail woman who scampered about the house trying to find things to do. Her movements made him sad, because he wanted to help out. It spoke against his nature to just sit by and list off things that he needed, especially when he was perfectly capable of doing them himself. There was something about this woman, the way she skittered to and fro, that made him pity her, made him scared. She was so fragile, so delicate, that even he, little more than a child, feared breaking her, or saying something that would hurt her. So he did his best to keep a smile on his face and keep out of her way, tucking himself to the flattened and hard pillows of the couch.

"The market...If'n you could take me to the market, mum, tha'd be swell," Chauhn said hopefully, quite enjoying the idea of finding a caravan to hop into. Not only would it save him the walking distance, but it would provide him with safety, and hopefully security from would-be doers of harm. It was the best bet Chauhn had of getting back home. "Just to the market, 'n' ahm sure ah could find m'way there. A caravan would be safe for me, mum."

Watching her move to the fire as she heaved a kettle onto a metal rack over the sputtering flame, Chauhn tucked himself deeper into the blankets, blinking his eyes wearily. He didn't know what the kettle was for. Perhaps it was for soup or a warm drink, but never once did he think of her true intention, bath. As much as he needed one, as much as he would enjoy one, it wasn't the first thing that came to his mind. Food was the second thing on his mind, just behind protection and shelter.

"Whot's the kettle for, mum?" he asked curiously, cupping his hands over his heart and the pouch of ashes underneath the blanket.

By the time Felicity turned herself around, Chauhn was already up and standing behind her, the blanket hugged in his arms. His happy sooty face grinned up at her with nothing but gratitude, and he awkwardly kicked off the rags of what he had left for shoes. "Thank you, mum, thank you!" he beamed happily, expressing nothing but honest thanks, "Ahm sure hot water'll do me good! Ah ain't had a warm bath 'n ages, mum, honest!" In fact, now that she mentioned it, he wanted nothing more than to sponge himself wet with warm water. He couldn't remember how it felt to be feel warm, and he was going to clean his skin now while he had the chance.

Dumping the blanket onto the ground, he bent himself over to roll up his pant legs until the pale skin of his thigh showed, which, although protected from dirt by fabric, was still, somehow smeared with dirt. Once his legs were freed, exposed to the chill air, he lifted himself up and carefully wrenched his shirt and jacket off of the top of his body. He carefully rolled up the clothes and set them to the side along with his hat, but failed to take off the pouch around his neck. For no reason would he take his makeshift necklace off, not even when he was about to get himself cleaned. He would clean around it, he decided. Sitting himself on the cold floorboards, Chauhn gave a great shiver before he groped around for the sponge. Testing it in his hands, listening to the dry crackle as the sponge resisted the squeeze of his fingers, he dunked it into the steaming water. As soon as the sponge absorbed the water and buckled into a state of softness, he brought it out of the water, squeezed it a bit and then pressed the warmth to his legs. Giving a smile, he started to scrub the dirt away from his skin, exposing light caramel colored flesh.

"It's very nice of you, mum, thank you," he said again, his words, this time, in a happy sigh.

Sleep, while being a thing that his body craved for almost as much as his dried and heavy eyes, was far from Chauhn's mind as long as he remained as close as he did to the fire. The heat of the hearth was melting the stiffness in his body, yet, at the same time, an icy and instinctual fear of the flame rattled and gnarled at his gut. Chauhn only stayed near the hearth for sheer politeness to the delicate and frail lady, and he could manage it because he could twist himself in the chair so that his back was facing the flame and he didn't have to look at it. As long as Chauhn didn't have to look at the fire, he was fine. He wouldn't be able to pick out an imagined body broken among the burning timber.

Adjusting himself underneath the blanket at the first sound from the fidgety woman, Chauhn glanced up at her with bleary eyes, the motion being an okay for her to continue in her question. Once she finished speaking, he paused and thought.

"Precious?" the boy echoed, not really sure what the lady meant. He couldn't really say no, not with what little information she had given him, besides his fear of saying something to break her or excite her in whatever way. "Yes, mum, o' course, mum," he mumbled in response, giving his best smile and a nod of his head. Very casually did he watch her fingers curl in a similar manner to his upon her collar, and the motion did little to disturb him. It...made him more curious.

When the lady walked back into the room it was like watching a leader of a funeral procession. It was a slow and ambled gait, like she were walking on broken glass or trying to keep water from spilling from an already overfilled glass. Chauhn had to wonder what kind of thing she was holding in her hands, as they were cupped around the precious item, concealing it from sight. He shifted in his chair, folding his legs underneath him and wrapping the blanket in bunches around his shoulders and chest to keep out the cold air. He wanted to lift himself up higher so he could see. It turned out that he didn't have to adjust himself, as the frail lady meandered over to him and displayed her precious item, as carefully as one might display a living butterfly.

It was a flower.

The moment Felicity stepped within range, the pouch upon Chauhn's chest gave a great wiggle and a jump. It was just his luck that he had his blankets around him, obscuring the pouch's excited movement from view. Underneath the blanket, Chauhn slapped a hand to his chest, pinning the pouch tight. Meanwhile, he gave the most innocent gaze of curiosity that he could muster. With a lift of his brows and a drop of his jaw, he gazed at the tender item. It was a flower, still living but obviously tainted with something...Something that Chauhn just didn't know. He felt like he should know...But he just didn't come to discover quite what it was. His intuition was woefully blind to the item, but he cataloged it in memory regardless.

The story that went along with the item was more poignant than the flower by far. Chauhn glanced up from the flower to the sadness in Felicity's face. He had seen that sadness before, in the reflection of a dirty puddle of water. Chauhn gave a knowing and regretful smile, "Keep it safe," he said, his voice quieter still, "It's very important, mum. Keep it very safe."