In front of the small house, Regulus's mother stood with a wide smile on her face.
She was a beautiful woman who appeared to be in her early thirties, though the subtle shadows beneath her eyes hinted at hardships that had aged her spirit if not her face.
Her hair was pure white, cascading down her shoulders in gentle waves, and her gray eyes—identical to her son's—sparkled with love as she spotted him running toward her.
'So he got that from his mom,' Arthur thought, noting the matching eyes.
The woman, seeing him approach, immediately ran to meet him halfway, arms outstretched. They collided in a fierce embrace, her slender frame enveloping her son as if to shield him from the world.
"Regulus!" she exclaimed, holding him tight.
From her anxious posture, Arthur could tell she had been waiting for hours, perhaps pacing the garden path, watching the road for his return.
