“Rune, where are you going?” Timmy asked.
Rune turned and pulled her dressing gown closed. Timmy had come to the orphanage a couple of months before. He was a soft-spoken boy of eight whose eyes held too much sorrow. His father had died when he was just a babe and his mother of tuberculosis two months ago.
“You should be asleep,” Rune whispered sternly. “What are you doing up?”
Timmy looked down at his hands and didn’t reply at first. Rune sighed and knelt down in front of him. She gently tilted his trembling chin up so he could see she wasn’t mad.
“How about some warm milk and a small piece of cake?” she asked softly. “It always helps me when I have a sad dream.”
Timmy looked into her eyes with a serious expression. “Do you have sad dreams too?” he asked, raising his hand to touch he
