Four-year-old Boromir was worried. He had altered his mother’s brand new and pristine looking evening gown. He understood it was precious, but surely she would understand he needed the silk to build his tent. His camp just didn’t feel completed without a warrior’s tent. And besides, his father knew, had encouraged him. Boromir knew this, because whenever his daddy saw him, he smiled. He just hoped that his momma’s maternal – he didn’t know the word of course, but still – feelings would get him out of THIS scrape. He could hear her coming now and wondered if he should hide quickly.
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