poor delicate tiny scholarbaby

It's another gorgeous morning in Goldkrone, and Autor embraces his mother. "Hello, Mutterchen."

"Hello, Autorchen," she says, squeezing him back. "You've been hugging me more often than usual, lately. Not that I'm complaining, but is there a reason why? You haven't gone and gotten in trouble at school, have you?"

Autor hesitates. He needs to take the opportunity to embrace her while he still has it; he'll be moving into Milliways soon, and turning his back on her forever. He also doesn't want her to worry about him. "I'm just happier, I guess," he says. "And I want to share that with you."

"Thank you, son," she says, beaming at him and gathering him into another warm embrace. "I'm so glad you're happy. The happiness of one's children is every mother's hope."

And Autor hugs her back, his eyes watering as he tries not to cling.

The morning mist has burned away this Saturday, and the cobblestone streets glisten with dew in Goldkrone. People mill around, getting ready for the day and greeting one another. There are no cars on the streets, but the occasional horse is put to use. Autor leads Oswin through a door near his school from Milliways.

"[Remember,]" he says in French, "[I've told my mother you're coming, so try to... I don't know, act natural? But not too natural. I don't want her scandalized.]"