The ride was quiet. The loudest sound that we can hear along the ride was probably that of the horse's hoof as it rode down to our destination. The cab sometimes bounces whenever it stepped on a big pebble on the rough path, making us feel as if we were getting hit recklessly in the air.

The man didn't say more words after the ride began, only the sounds of his ropes hitting his stead can be heard from him. Owen was naturally not much of a talker either. He only spoke a few words since we sat on this long journey. A few short words. Still with his head down the entire time.

That is to be expected. It's exactly how I thought he would be. Timid and quiet.

The quiet ride soon came to an end when the carriage abruptly stopped. The darkness had already drawn its obscure veil over the city of Edinburgh. The man snorted as he gazed around, at every corner of the slum path. Drunkards and whores started piling up on the street.

"What a great place to be taking your son," he uttered under his breath and though it was spoken in a small voice, I still caught it very clearly.

I paid the man and led Owen out of the carriage, making sure to keep a hold of him while walking down the path. The scent of mud and alcohol, as well as smoke, was one of the main focuses along our walk. Out of all the paths he could have stopped at, why must it be in a place like this?

Along the way, one or two ladies approached me and tries to pull me along with them, completely dismissing the fact that I have a child walking with me.

"Come on, we'll have some fun. We won't even charge you that much, darling," one of them spoke as she reached to grip me by the arm with a hard force.

I shook my head and grimace at the contact. "No thank you, please stop holding on to me" Truly, I was disgusted and worried about the fabric that I'm using. I was afraid they would taint my high-quality suit.

Seeing how I kept ignoring them, all the other ladies didn't try to do the same. They let me have my way while still batting their eyes, hoping I change my mind. Girls like that can smell money just by sight, it seems.

When we finally reach the end of that path, I sighed a long sigh of relief. One that didn't go unnoticed by Owen. I can feel his stares burning into the side of my face but again, he said no words to voice whatever was playing in his mind.

I let my eyes run around, not knowing where I should start to look for Bloomsdale. I walked across the main path and decided I had to ask someone. Maybe I should have asked those ladies for help, but I know deep down, I shouldn't. I don't think they would help me anyways.

Pulling the photo Jo gave me out of my pocket, I desperately look around for someone who I think wouldn't mind us asking for the way. I keep letting my eyes travel around until they stop on a group of a few young boys.

I walked up to them, bringing Owen along with me. One of them, a taller and larger build boy, with short buzzed ginger hair and brown eyes, who I presumed was the leader, turned to look at me, noticing my presence walking close to them.

"Good evening, gentleman," I greeted them with a lift of my hat.

They nodded. Curious eyes gawked at us, making Owen shudder and hid his small figure behind me.

"How can we help you?" one of them asked, as he stood up from his crouching position. The boy has brown hair and dark eyes, scrawny with a coal smudge on his face. Must be one of the street kids.

"I need directions to go to a friend."

"Where do you need to go?" Another one of them asked. This one had dusty yellow hair and blue eyes. He looked way younger than the others and I was a bit surprised that he can communicate well enough despite being that small.

"A place called, Bloomsdale. Ever heard of it?"

They made a thinking gesture. Each of them looks at one other. Then another one of them spoke, a red hair with crooked teeth and brown eyes this time. "I've never heard of such a place. I don't think any of us did."

Then another boy, who looked almost identical to the boy before, minus the taller height and stronger jawline, spoke, "Do you know which street it is? Or at least, which street your friend is at?"

I fumbled with the photos and postcard that Jo gave me, and noticed on the postcard were written in her neat small writing the word, reading 'Stockbridge'. I told the boys of the information and immediately they sprang up and offered to take me to the very street.

And we walked on. Venturing back into another muddy path. Luckily this one was almost empty with very few passersby walking about. Quiet and peaceful.

"Has your son never been around kids his age?" the youngest of them asked.

"He's not my son. If you want, you can try to talk to him but I think he's just shy and clearly just not much of a talker."

"Who is the kid then? Someone you picked up from the street, sir?" one of the twins asked. I don't know which one.

"No. I didn't pick him off the street. His name is Owen and if you have questions about him, you may ask him yourself. I'm sure he would like having friends his age."

The boys circled around him, asking him questions, which he sometimes answer in a timid and shaky voice, sometimes he was too shaken that he didn't say anything in reply. He seems to have trouble communicating.

The boys kept talking to him regardless, along the way, they laughed and chattered while Owen made a small uncomfortable laugh sound all the while. I almost sympathy the little boy. What a horrible fear. The others were acting as if they had known him all their lives and he couldn't relate. He's too socially closed.

After a while, the boys stopped walking as they turned to survey their surroundings before announcing that we'd arrived on Stockbridge. I thanked them for their help and company. Those boys merely smiled in return and waved at Owen, before leaving both me and Owen alone, to survey the street number to find where she is.