There wasn't much in his world, just then.
There was a pair of warm hands, holding him against a warm arm, wool of a sweater scratchy. Such big strong hands, like they could hold all the world; they could hold most of him, in fact.
His own little stubby fingers were wrapped tight into dark hair, straight and nice and smooth against his palm. He wasn't tugging much.
And there was that deep voice rumbling low and amused in the chest Caleb was pressed against, besides heartbeat.
There wasn't much in his world, just then, but everything was all right.
( ~~~ )
![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
7s_prompts 14.2.3. Children begin...
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
musebysentence
