In the days that followed, Bob seemed like a different man.
He got up before dawn every day to swing his sword and kept going until sunset. Aside from eating and telling Mia stories of his adventures, he barely rested.
Little Mia had become Bob's emotional anchor. Before she was abducted, she had been an orphan in the O'Brien Empire, but life on the streets had not broken the little girl. Instead, her uniquely pure soul had filled her with hope for the world.
Bob's injuries had yet to heal completely. Every swing tugged at the wounds on his shoulder blades, making him grimace in pain, but he gritted his teeth and refused to stop.
Sometimes Loa could not bear watching and told him to rest.
Bob said, "Those children don't even have the chance to rest."
Loa fell silent.
He knew the fire in Bob's heart had not gone out. It was not anger, but something deeper-self-reproach, guilt, and a thirst for strength.
These feelings were complicated, neither entirely good nor entirely bad.
At least they could get Bob back on his feet instead of leaving him huddled in a corner, sinking into despair.
At night, Bob would sit at the cave entrance, staring blankly at the stars.
Mia nestled in his arms and tilted her little face up to ask, "Uncle Bob, what are you thinking about?"
"How to get stronger," Bob said.
"Will you be able to beat the bad guys if you get stronger?"
"Yes."
"Then you have to practice hard," Mia said earnestly. "When I grow up, I want to get stronger too, so I can fight bad guys with you."
Bob looked down at her, his eyes stinging a little.
"All right," he said. "When you grow up, I'll teach you."
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