Third person's POV
The little boy's face bore several scratches, and his small fingers were covered in wounds. Those tender little hands, stained with blood, were heart-wrenching.
As Captain applied medicine to his injuries, the boy stood still, tears welling up in his eyes, but he stubbornly held them back.
Captain stared at the boy for a while, feeling as if he recognized him as he reminded him of someone.
After cleaning their wounds, Captain asked several questions but received no answers.
After eating and drinking her fill, the little girl's head bobbed like a chick pecking at rice, and she fell asleep within minutes.
The boy was clearly exhausted but stayed alert, watching Captain.
"You don't have to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you. What's your name? Did you get lost from your mom and dad?"
The boy remained silent, not revealing a word.
Captain sighed, "I've never seen such a vigilant child. Alright, I won't ask anymore. Rest when you're tired. We'll stay here for another day, and I'll help you find your parents tomorrow."
He offered the bed to the children and settled himself on the sofa across.
The boy stayed awake until midnight before finally succumbing to sleep.
Daylight arrived.
Captain woke up early, determined to find the children's parents.
Little did he know, as soon as he left, a dark figure flipped in through the window.
The boy, who had been dozing, opened his eyes alertly. Upon recognizing the intruder, his eyes lit up, and he whispered, "Dad."
The man put a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.
The boy complied, but his eyes widened at the sight of blood on the man's clothes. "Blood," he said, a hint of concern in his voice.
Still in the age of innocence, they understood what blood meant.
"It's okay," the man reassured him in a deep voice. "It's not mine. It's someone else's. The situation outside is tense. We'll hide here for a while."
The boy nodded. Ever since he could remember, he and his sister had been on the run with their dad.
They never stayed in one place for long before the pursuers would catch up.
They had taken in a puppy, which had also been killed in front of them.
The old man seemed kind. Perhaps he could take them in.
The man stroked the boy's cheek, a flicker of heartache in his eyes.
"I'm sorry you've had to suffer because of me."
The boy rubbed his cheek against the man's palm, comforting him like a loyal puppy.
"Once we escape, I'll take you to visit your mom. She must miss you both very much."
His voice filled with sorrow, he continued, "You must grow up well. Your mother had a hard time giving birth to you."
The boy nodded, not fully understanding but feeling the gravity of the words, his eyes brimming with tears.
"You're such a good boy. Your mother would be proud if she could see you now."
"Mom," the boy murmured.
After a few more instructions, the man slipped out the window as quietly as he had come.
As the day brightened, Wilmot, after a few hours of rest, checked the time and prepared to make breakfast for Tabitha.
As soon as he stepped out, his gaze turned icy, scanning the surroundings vigilantly.
"What's up, Wilmot? Your expression is kind of scary," a crew member passing by commented, feeling a chill run down his spine.
Wilmot retracted the coldness in his eyes and asked, "Did anyone pass by here just now?"
The crew member scratched his head, a slight buzz from last night's drinking still lingering on his face, and replied, "I don't know. It's still early in the morning. Don't scare me. I have a small courage."
"Don't worry," Wilmot waved his hand.
After the crew member left, his gaze turned icy again. No mistake, he smelled blood.