Why did I do that? I do not know.
I saw a young boy on the roadside, crying. A country road; situated between two rows of trees. He had a chalk in his hand. He was drawing something. Do you want to know what it was?
I knelt down next to him. I put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me. Nothing in those eyes but fear and despair. Nothing at all. To look at such a child was to look at a wounded dog, begging for mercy. I looked around; from the corner of my eye, I saw someone at the end of the road; the road was on an incline, so we were at the hill's base, whereas the figure was at the top. I couldn't see the details, but they seemed to be staring right at us.
He knew I'd seen him. So I, very pointedly, took the chalk from the child's hand. "No." I draw... well, look to your left. I drew that symbol. I drew it in the ground, and then gave the chalk back to the child. I told him to never think of the other symbol, and that the one I drew was the only one that mattered. He nodded. I asked him where his home was; he told me. We stood up, and I took him by the hand. My back to the figure atop the hill, I walked the child to his house. It wasn't far.
I told him to never mention me to his parents, or the magic would fade. He seemed to understand that. He went inside, and I departed.
... why did I do that?