Moonspear You make wine from sour grapes

There was a brief, happy exchange between the now-relatives that Maude felt awkward in. She remained in that awkward situation even as the conversation progressed, the curse barely phasing her, now realizing how fruitless their whole effort was. It frustrated her, because she was led to believe that Kjalarr was nobler than that. Some honorable hero who was probably off on some mission, instead of just some cowering kid. And now she knew better. And now the kid knew better too. 

Maude took one look at Arrille's face and instantly blaunched. Ah, shit. She thought to herself as the boy's happiness faded away. At this point Kjalarr — Jorunn , whoever the fuck — didn't matter anymore. The man's words made it very clear that based on past experience, he wasn't coming back. It hurt Maude, sure, but it hurt even more to see the kid's face after that. 

She didn't know what to do. She didn't feel comfortable enough to embrace him or pick him or whatever mothers do. She looked at him, confused and afraid, before stepping forward and tucking the kid into the crook of her arm, wondering if that was the right thing.