I set the chipped jug beside the basin, tilting until its contents flow. Some drops fall over the edge: the bowl fills half-full.
“Careful, Boromir. Not too much.”
I move the jug away, pick up the towel from the stand.
“Test it. Hot or cold, my son?”
With a finger, I check. “Warm, Mother.”
“Good. You have the towel?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
She places her babe in the shallow water, moving a cloth over face, arms, legs with infinite care. Clean, she lifts him, dripping, and nods for Boromir to begin.
“Gentle, now, Boromir. You must be gentle.”