【生肉搬运】鸟雀Passerine 第五章(4)

But Tommy wasn’t a flower. He was Tommy. He was Phil’s son, and he loved him now as much as he could love him later, though later might never come. But his arms were made of stone. They would not rise, as much as he willed them to. If he held Tommy now, he knew he would never let go. He would follow his baby to his grave.
And then there he was, sneaking past the guards and the midwives, passing under a grieving god’s notice. He climbed up into bed, smiling at his mother, apparently oblivious—or immune, as often starry-eyed children were—to the anguish that coated the very air of the room.