C1415 My Son Where Are You

In the next downpour, the woman with dishevelled hair would fall every few steps.

This did not affect her footsteps as she ran towards the big tree.

Just like how she did not know how many times she had fallen, how many times her forehead had probably been smashed by the same stone, nor did she forget to shout hoarsely, "My son, my son! Don't be afraid, Mom's back. Mom is back to hug you