Ben clutched the walking stick to his chest. His left side felt as though it was on fire, but cold at the same time. He saw the boy take his jacket off and drape it over him.

          “That’ll keep you a bit warm,” the boy said.

          “Okay,” Ben breathed. The boy wrinkled his nose in distaste. The old man’s breath smelled putrid.

          “What?” Ben asked, catching the expression.

          “Your breath smells,” the boy said candidly.

          “So does the rest of the world,” Ben said. “It’s a giant turd – and it smells like one too.”

          “There are some beautiful things on it,” the boy said.

          “Name one,” Ben rasped.

          “Mountains, lakes, rivers, the oceans, animals, caves, beaches, butterflies, dragonflies, waterfalls, flowers, trees – your walking stick,” the boy responded.

          “Okay, okay,” Ben said wearily. “That’s enough. Shut up now.”

          The boy sat quietly by the old man. Soon the old man said he felt well enough to sit up. The boy helped him. After a long pause, the old man levered himself to his feet, using the stick. The boy watched as the old man stood up, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Finally the old man took his first tentative step. The boy stood on his left side, supporting him. He gently held the old man’s numb left hand.

          Hand in hand the young boy and the old man walked slowly along the path.