The more he learned about this child, the heavier the Irishman's heart became. He had no name, no birthday, no family...the only hands he had known had presumably been severe and cruel. The only language he spoke clearly was the one he had heard spoken by his tormentor. He was underfed, small and skinny for his age, weak, and most likely had no education at all. Though Faolan had grown up a poor farmer in the bogs of the Irish south, even he had had more chances than this boy. Lucien had been raised entirely cloistered by a religious patriarchy, had never known the touch of his mother or father's hand, and only had the chance to experience freedom after his teenage years had already ended, but had many more opportunities than this child could have known were possible.

Faolan looked down at his nearly empty bowl, then up to Lucien and down at the child. They had given him a second chance at life...Faolan would be sure it wasn't squandered.

[color=a36209]"I suppose that means a cake is in order, eh?"[/color] He said to the boy, almost grimacing when he realized he almost added "Snake" to the end of the question. He would not call the boy that, not ever. He would rather refer to him with silence than use the name given to him by that evil charlatan masquerading as a man. He saw that the child had barely eaten any of his food, and raised an eyebrow before looking at Lucien once more. [color=a36209]"We'll make an eater out of him yet."[/color] he said, then downed the rest of his stew by tilted the bowl into his mouth.