Word Count: 200
Prompt: "It is a wise father than knows his own child."
The boy was the rough looking sort. All leather and shredded denim, splattered with something that looked like blood. But rather than scurry past, the man –who looked like he should be in Mayfair, not in this particularly rough and grimy part of London— sat down beside him on the bank of the Thames, heedless of his pristine suit.
“How did you find me?” the boy asked, gruffly.
“An educated guess.”
“So you know, then?”
“Yes. Between the books you left behind and what we could gather from your… companions, I think we have a clear picture of what happened. You were reckless to play with such things, but, even so, what occurred couldn’t have been predicted,” the man replied. Leaning forward, the man caught the boy’s eye. “The fact that it wasn’t worse is due to your quick thinking. You handled yourself beautifully. I’m proud of you.”
And that was it. The boy broke down sobbing. Though the man offered no words of comfort or physical demonstrations of affection, his compassion enveloped the boy like a blanket. When the boy had finally calmed himself, the man asked quietly, “Shall we go home then, Rupert?”
“Yes, Da. I’d like that.”