the earth has music for those who listen
"Dream. It's very pretty," Mateo murmurs, wiggling his toes in the sand and pebbles. The water is up to his waist now, and it's true that he has forgotten all about caution in lieu of sieving for rocks and learning about the sky and the ocean in the travelling tongue - his attention span is not as big as his capacity to learn language, clearly. "When will we go dreaming again, Da?" he wonders, having collected up the rest of the stones (and one extra, for Ludo or for Sugar) only to see the alchemist give him the look.
Most might consider this terrifying, but for Mateo it means play, and the boy is already splashing back towards the shore when the manticore bellows and drenches him. It's with a scream of glee rather than horror that the boy is caught by the waves, washed right up onto the bank where he ends up tumbling and soaked and rolling along, surrounded by his rocks.
"Da, you made the pebbles run away!" he protests.
Most might consider this terrifying, but for Mateo it means play, and the boy is already splashing back towards the shore when the manticore bellows and drenches him. It's with a scream of glee rather than horror that the boy is caught by the waves, washed right up onto the bank where he ends up tumbling and soaked and rolling along, surrounded by his rocks.
"Da, you made the pebbles run away!" he protests.
