the earth has music for those who listen
"Cold-blooded?" Mateo repeats, gazing up at the snake as it joins its friend on his father's shoulders and tries to slither away into his hair. "What about us? Are we hot-blooded?" he asks. He doesn't understand terms like consciously regulate, but it makes him feel smart to nod along like he knows what Remi means, and so that's exactly what he does right now.
With a wide and dimpled smile to see the hands-in-snake make itself at home, Mateo brushes off his hands on his pants and ducks his head in a nod. "Much better," he muses, mostly to himself, before toddling away again to investigate something new. "What are we collecting today, Da?" he asks. "Or is it snakes?" He wants it to be snakes.
With a wide and dimpled smile to see the hands-in-snake make itself at home, Mateo brushes off his hands on his pants and ducks his head in a nod. "Much better," he muses, mostly to himself, before toddling away again to investigate something new. "What are we collecting today, Da?" he asks. "Or is it snakes?" He wants it to be snakes.
