He plucks it out of her hands, wrapping it around her shoulders and giving them a rub that he hopes is comforting, a tender look on his face. "Because you're the nurturer. Because you're still a soldier and a good mother, because you take care of us, of me," he says emphatically. "Not just stitching, but making sure we're careful and minded after. Maybe it's not nurturing. You're our protector, and that's what a mother should be, isn't it?"