@healour
Continued from here.
This man was but a stranger to Dwyer, but there was something about his presence that comforted the young boy that only his parents could bring. He wasn't sure what it was or why, but the other who shared his name made him feel at ease. The child didn't quite remember what they were doing or how they found the rickety bridge-- he was growing weary throughout their slow walk. He found it hard to remain conscious, and there was a certain tiredness in the air that left the impression the older Dwyer was feeling the same.
Now they stood before a frail rope bridge, over a ravine with a tremendous drop. Simply remaining at the front was enough to make the small boy cower in fear, tightly clutching the bottom of the elder’s shirt. He wanted to cry, whine how much he wanted to go home. However, all he could muster were small whimpers. Dwyer’s eyes met the other’s as the Troubadour tried to coax the child into crossing. A hand was held out, the child’s whimpering ceased. He was still frightened, but he reluctantly took the man’s gloved hand.
“O-okay…”
