MATEO
It's par for the course, his father's strength, and Mateo can only smile his thanks as he gathers up the crushed powder to add it to the pestle and mortar so they might even out the colour and texture. And his blue eyes are bright and curious as Remi tests it out, his head cocking to the side with the colour's reveal. "Mm, it still looks too yellow," he agrees, reaching out to snag a couple of vibrantly pink flowerbuds. Stripping the leaves off with a familiarity that suggests he has done it before, the boy grinds up the flowers into the powder as well.
He pauses as the travelling tongue spills from his father's lips, brow furrowing as he tries to glean the meaning. "Oil," he realises, smiling hopefully up at Remi. "Where from? The flower lady next door gave me... um..." He frowns, trying to remember. "Chamomile? She said I can dry the flowers and make oil from it." It probably doesn't help them right this minute, but Mateo is always keen to share with the alchemist.
He pauses as the travelling tongue spills from his father's lips, brow furrowing as he tries to glean the meaning. "Oil," he realises, smiling hopefully up at Remi. "Where from? The flower lady next door gave me... um..." He frowns, trying to remember. "Chamomile? She said I can dry the flowers and make oil from it." It probably doesn't help them right this minute, but Mateo is always keen to share with the alchemist.
the earth has music for those who listen
