the earth has music for those who listen
"Ch... Ss... cielo." Mateo sounds it out until he thinks he's got it right, all the while clutching his little stone and toddling back to the bank to place it down. "Like that?" he asks, returning to his sieve and watching triumphantly as his father copies him, only for the expression to fade when the water grows muddy and the alchemist emerges rock-less. "Oh," he says, tilting his head and listening carefully to the ongoing investigation.
"Maybe," he says slowly, flipping his sieve and digging it deep into the sand and water. When he hefts it back up, there's a lot of silt and pebbles in it, Mateo gasping and picking through the sieve to get to the rocks. (He is neither strong nor knowlegeable enough to think of picking up the sieve and shaking all the sand away). "You did it, Da! You figured it out."
"Maybe," he says slowly, flipping his sieve and digging it deep into the sand and water. When he hefts it back up, there's a lot of silt and pebbles in it, Mateo gasping and picking through the sieve to get to the rocks. (He is neither strong nor knowlegeable enough to think of picking up the sieve and shaking all the sand away). "You did it, Da! You figured it out."
