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I set the chipped jug beside the basin, tilting until its contents flow. Some drops fall over the edge: the bowl fills half-full. “Careful, Boromir. Not too much.” I move the jug away, pick up the towel from the stand. “Test it. Hot or cold, my son?” With a finger, I check. “Warm, Mother.” “Good. You have the towel?” “Yes, I’m ready.” She places her babe in the shallow water, moving a cloth over face, arms, legs with infinite care. Clean, she lifts him, dripping, and nods for Boromir to begin. “Gentle, now, Boromir. You must be gentle.” “Yes, Mother.” |