Broken Boulder the sweet far thing

The weasel was juicer than the robin, but Fields's story had been juicer than both. And now here Ico sat (or lay, the remaining food still sitting expectantly next to his forepaws), with something even more satisfying and vital in sight. Somewhere to stay put... Fields was careful to note that he may not wish to linger there forever, but the youth was too moved to notice; moved by the welcoming hand extended by a smiling knight.

Ico had enough imagination and wherewithal to wonder in a creeping manner if Fields had some ulterior motive here — after all, he had been so kind for what felt like no reason at all. But the boy was too taken in by said kindness. He took him at his word, and beamed. "I'd love that, Mr Fields. I mean Fields. And I'll think of some way to repay you, I'm sure of it."

Though even as he said it, he wasn't sure how. Ico's traditional skillset was meager, and it was all he could do not to mutter: are you sure you'd want to take in someone like me? Nobody else has been foolish enough.