The green-eyed stranger was right; his father did this to them. Xander touched the soft skin of his mother's face. He made a fire and prepared her nightly soup. When he finished carefully feeding it to her, he curled up beside his mother under the heavenly cloak. He drifted into restless sleep, praying his unusual visitor was wrong.
He woke in the middle of the night to check on her as he did every night. His mother's body was as cold as the extinguished fire. Xander pushed himself up, eyes on her blue lips and white skin. She didn't appear dead; she was as flawless as the marble statues he saw once when he ventured to the wealthy side of the city.
He felt nothing, seated beside his dead mother, except the prick of anger. Born to a wealthy merchant family, she'd been disowned when it became known what kind of deformed child she bore. She wouldn't be buried in the ethereal silks of the wealthy or have her hair inlaid with flowers and perfumes. Her body wouldn't be placed in a funeral pyre or surrounded by family and friends who bore her gifts one last time.
All because of his father. He rarely thought of the man he didn't remember, but since the stranger's visit, Xander wasn't able to get his father out of his mind. He couldn't control the surge of adrenaline he experienced whenever he thought of sinking his teeth into his father's neck and draining his life from him, the way his father drained his mother's life.
Obsessed with the thought, he rose and began digging in the hut. Anger and sorrow gave him strength. He dug for hours, until the shallow grave was nonetheless large enough for his mother. He cleaned his hands of dirt then knelt beside her. With great effort, he worked the knots free from her hair and braided it one last time. Far stronger than boys many years older than he was, he bent and lifted her, carrying her to her permanent resting place.
Xander arranged her dress and hair with care. She was still beautiful, even worn down by the life she'd been forced into. His gaze settled on the only piece of jewelry she owned, a red gem that matched his eyes on a strip of leather around her neck. She'd worn it his whole life.
Did he take it, so he had something to remember her by? Or was it disrespectful to take her only treasure?
He sat in thoughtful silence for a long moment before he retrieved the rich stranger's cloak. He draped it over his mother's body. The gem meant something to her. If the stranger really did take him away from this place, he didn't want to go alone, with nothing to remind him of the woman who gave up her life for him.