The Little Sweet Potato
“Aaaah! Ack! Aaaah!!!”
At that moment, Ibel had grabbed Damian. She’d thrown herself forward just in time to catch him as he tried to scramble up the tree.
He was covered in mud and soaked to the bone, but it didn’t bother her. If anything, it felt strangely refreshing.
Maybe I’m just built for this kind of thing.
Letting out a hollow chuckle, Ibel casually dodged the hands clawing at her.
When a few kicks didn’t work and she still wouldn’t let go, Damian’s eyes blazed with fury as he lunged for her throat.
Frustrated even by that, he started growling like a wild beast.
Observing him closely, she could tell this time it was truly Damian.
“Not the tree. Let’s hide in the corner instead.”
His excitement was too high. In moments like this, flat-out saying “no” or “let’s go back” wouldn’t get through to him at all.
When dealing with a hyper-excited patient, one thing you should never do was issue negative commands.
Instead, it helped to understand their mindset and redirect their goal toward a suitable alternative path.
Ibel looked straight into the boy’s eyes and quietly called his name.
“Damian.”
“!”
“Damian. Want to run away and hide in a quiet corner together? Thunder’s scary, right? It scares me too.”
Right on cue, lightning flashed.
Damian’s pale face was illuminated in stark relief.
His eyes and nose were red—probably from crying—and burst blood vessels marred his pupils from the agitation.
Does he always get like this during thunderstorms? Or was there something especially frightening about today?
Ibel slowly relaxed her body and spoke again, calmly, as if this were nothing at all.
“Where should we hide? Can you show me? Damian. That way looks quieter.”
Calling his name seemed to dial down his excitement. Leaving just enough space for him to slip away if he wanted, Ibel shifted her body from pressing down directly in front of him to sliding off to the side.
Damian was still growling warily, but he no longer tried to bite.
He understands everything, it seems. Selective mutism, maybe.
Even baby animals flee to hide when frightened, heading instinctively for the safest spot.
Which means the house isn’t safe for Damian. Normally, he’d crawl under the bed…
As she analyzed rationally, Damian wriggled free from her arms. He didn’t try climbing the tree anymore but bolted off somewhere else.
Exactly. The tree was just a panicked choice. Now that he’s calmer, I wonder where he’s headed.
Her feet throbbed. Ignoring the pain, she followed at a distance.
He glanced back at her now and then, as if wary, before suddenly sprinting out of sight. Pushing through the overgrown bushes, she spotted an oak tree.
Its base was hollowed out in a round cavity big enough for her to sit in too.
“Cold?”
Approaching with a gentle tone, she stopped in front of the shivering, curled-up boy.
Her skirt was beyond saving anyway, so Ibel plopped down right there with a splat.
Screw etiquette—it was honestly more comfortable this way.
“Mind if I sit next to you? I’m freezing too.”
“Grrm.”
He grumbled indistinctly but shifted aside with the air of fine, whatever, make room.
She gave a small smile and squeezed into the narrow space, whispering, “Thanks.”
Whoosh.
The rain thickened, drumming against the ground.
When she tentatively reached out to Damian—just in case—he bristled ferociously with a growl.
Acting like an animal with bad memories of hands. Has he been hit before?
Who would dare lay a hand on Bayern blood?
Only another Bayern, that’s who.
“Did Genevieve hit you?”
Damian didn’t answer. It could have been frustrating, but Ibel stayed calm and persistent.
“If she did, she’ll never touch you again. I’ll stop her.”
“Grrr.”
“I mean it. Trust me just once? See if I’m lying.”
There was no proof of Genevieve’s violence yet.
Not yet.
Victor wouldn’t tolerate it if he knew.
Maybe she’d hit where bruises wouldn’t show, pinched him, or tormented him in some other clever way.
She wasn’t the creative type, though.
Otherwise, the kids’ hostility toward adults makes no sense. And Genevieve clearly despises them.
Gazing at Damian, who seemed slightly subdued, Ibel hummed a soft lullaby low in her throat. It was one her nursemaid had sung when she was very young.
“I’m a little sweet potato. I’ll grow into a big sweet potato. I munch my veggies diligently. Crunch crunch, crunch crunch.”
Hmm, the lyrics were a bit odd now that she thought about it.
Her nursemaid had said it was a common countryside song for children.
It was quirky, but the melody must have appealed—the tension eased from Damian as he inched closer.
Ibel pretended not to notice and kept singing.
Victor will hear this and come find us.
Singing loudly like a frog to cut through the rain, she paused at a faint mumble near her ear.
Damian was… mumbling along in his clumsy pronunciation.
When she stopped, he growled fiercely—keep going.
Damian likes songs.
Good intel.
How long had they been like that? A vibration like galloping hooves shook the ground, and Victor appeared, drenched just like her.
“The singing led me here.”
“Victor!”
A warm bath was all she craved, so his arrival was a godsend.
But Damian’s reaction was the opposite.
The boy, who’d calmed down, growled beast-like again and ducked behind her back.
Victor let out a wry chuckle at the sight.
“Hm, Victor. You’re so big, it’s scaring Damian. Maybe crouch down a bit?”
With her arms spread protectively, Ibel spoke softly. Victor complied without hesitation.
Damian was still on guard, but the towering man bending down helped somewhat.
“I think Damian’s afraid of you. If you keep being this gentle, you might get close eventually.”
“Afraid of me…”
Murmuring softly, he extended a large hand.
Not thrusting it forward thoughtlessly, but slow, like approaching an injured puppy.
“Damian. Your foot’s hurt. Does it ache? Want a piggyback ride?”
The boy clung to her like glue, warm and damp. Thump, thump. She could feel his little heartbeat.
She’d thought her heart was too hardened for this, but with his soft cheek pressed to her back… it stirred something indescribable.
The bites, the rage, the wariness from moments ago felt distant now.
“A piggyback will let you see super high up. Way more fun than climbing trees.”
She sensed Damian hesitating.
Victor watched patiently, taking it in.
The rain poured relentlessly, soaking them through, but he didn’t mind.
The old him would have seen this chaos as a waste of time and fumed. But not now.
He’d gone over ten days without washing amid blood and dirt before—what was rain?
The servants and butler hurried over, but he waved them off.
This was Damian’s moment to open up, even a little.
No distractions allowed.
“……”
After an eternity of hesitation, the boy crawled out when Victor turned and offered his back.
For the first time carrying his nephew, Victor nodded for Ibel to be helped onto a horse, then walked on foot through the downpour.
He didn’t know what to say, so his lips stayed sealed. The child’s damp breath on his back felt… oddly novel.