Salem's hands tighten on his bowl to keep it from spilling on either of them, but he leans more heavily into Pel, one of his hands coming up and resting in the crook of her elbow. He murmurs half-heard comforts and endearments, rocking gently as his eyes squeeze closed, offering as much comfort as he was being given.

There is little that words can do at this point, so instead he hums, a quiet song he could remember his father singing to him whenever he was frightened or angry and crying.