She whips her head around in search of his jacket and plucks the white coat laying on his knees. "You should put on your coat," she instructs, slipping his arms from around her neck through the sleeves. She discovers that he is nude for only the bandages swathed over his entire body and she briefly flares at the extent of his injuries from his abusers as she buttons the coat.
Pulling him to his feet, she realizes that he is barefoot. She shuffles through her purse, pushing aside her wallet and bunches of loose receipts to find the pair of flats she keeps in her purse for days when her feet feel pained by her heels, slipping them on his feet.
She stares at his feet for a moment, a thought to his smooth soles. How can a runaway not have any sign of his trek through the city on his bare feet? She shrugs off the thought, relenting that it's only a small detail, and unties her green scarf, wrapping it around the boy's neck for extra warmth.
He tilts his head down and buries his chin in the fabric, stroking the green scarf with a smile. His eyes lift up to her and he beams an excited smile, and she accepts his silent, but happy gesture as a sign of appreciation. Offering her hand, he latches his own to her one fingers, one hands still stroking the scarf around his neck.
They crawl through the bushes back to the path, and the boy never releases her fingers, almost floating as he slides through the openings she creates in the hedges. On the path, she starts out of the park, one hand digging through her purse again, this time in search of her cell phone.