[A shuffle of images comes to mind for Daniel, too, gingerly offered up: sitting on someone's knobby knees, his own tiny legs swinging, pouring over a tome as big as he was; scratched a scar-laced cat with bloody fingers on a creaky dock smelling sharply of fish and salt; scrambling through dusty sun-baked alleyways, heart pounding, with his hands full of stolen apples.]

I'm glad.