"Oh, my precious little boy," the gaunt woman reached out. Her hand covered his cheek, and though it was insubstantial, like smoke in the wind, he felt something, something he could not describe, cold and warm, light and heavy at the same time. It filled his body, his very soul, and he sobbed. He wanted to touch her in return, but that blasted boy would not let go of his hands. So, all he could do was drinking in the sight of the young woman who had given life to him and then abandoned him at an orphanage.