Calan
Calan nods along with Carlo’s explanation, bright and pleased, because when listed in the proper order—cannon, clothes, breakfast—the morning sounds less like trouble and more like a very efficient route home. Nobody had told them there was a wrong way to get big, find food, and dress themselves, and if there was, Calan thinks that should probably have been on a sign too.
He follows Carlo inside with the yellow slicker brushing around his ankles, one hand still lifted a little for balance and the other reaching back once to check that the flat dark boy is still coming. It is. Good. That makes four of them, or possibly six, depending on whether dads count theirs separately, which seems like the sort of thing worth working out later when there is less cold air involved.
Then Carlo stops; Calan bumps into him at once, not hard enough to fall but hard enough to make the hood slip over one eye again. He shoves it back, blinking first at Carlo, then at where his brother points, and it takes him a second to understand the problem because Remi is there, clearly there, with feet and legs and everything else a person is meant to have.
Except.
Calan’s eyes widen as he looks at Remi’s feet, then at Ronin’s shadow, then down at his own, where the dark boy remains obediently attached. His mouth opens with the careful horror of someone discovering that one of the morning’s rules has already been broken by an adult. "Did the noise scare it?" he asks, voice dropping as though shadows might be listening from under the furniture. "We can help you look for it!"
He follows Carlo inside with the yellow slicker brushing around his ankles, one hand still lifted a little for balance and the other reaching back once to check that the flat dark boy is still coming. It is. Good. That makes four of them, or possibly six, depending on whether dads count theirs separately, which seems like the sort of thing worth working out later when there is less cold air involved.
Then Carlo stops; Calan bumps into him at once, not hard enough to fall but hard enough to make the hood slip over one eye again. He shoves it back, blinking first at Carlo, then at where his brother points, and it takes him a second to understand the problem because Remi is there, clearly there, with feet and legs and everything else a person is meant to have.
Except.
Calan’s eyes widen as he looks at Remi’s feet, then at Ronin’s shadow, then down at his own, where the dark boy remains obediently attached. His mouth opens with the careful horror of someone discovering that one of the morning’s rules has already been broken by an adult. "Did the noise scare it?" he asks, voice dropping as though shadows might be listening from under the furniture. "We can help you look for it!"
I've never been one to half-ass shenanigans.
