the earth has music for those who listen
"What?" Mateo tilts his head, waving at his father as he goes loping away through the trees, leaving the boys to it. Only when he realises Ever is, y'know, freaking out does he decide to do something about it. Of course, Mateo's version of doing something is to plop down and sit in the wildflowers around them, reaching out to pat the grass that Ever might sit with him. "F-A-S-T? What does that stand for?" he asks, not having the advantage of a doctor for a mother.
Maybe he needs one, though, with the amount of danger he's so regularly put in (by himself). "Oh, look at this!" He scrambles to his knees and lean down before a purple bloom, a busy bee bum poking out from the petals. "He's pollinating the flowers. This is how bees can make honey, you know."
Maybe he needs one, though, with the amount of danger he's so regularly put in (by himself). "Oh, look at this!" He scrambles to his knees and lean down before a purple bloom, a busy bee bum poking out from the petals. "He's pollinating the flowers. This is how bees can make honey, you know."
