Everest
At best Ever can hear the garbled sounds of the travelling tongue, and it's lucky that he hadn't been closer lest he spirals into more of a panic thinking he was having another stroke. Already sweat had begun to bead across his forehead, and his little heart was hammering so hard in his chest that it was distracting. Only because of his canine instincts does Ever find Mateo in a timely manner. Without them he'd have wandered about, crying out for his friend and lamenting his poor sense of directional hearing.
"My turn?" Ever repeats, red-faced as he arrives at Mateo's side, only to see him cradling his wrist. "Oh no.." The boy murmurs helpfully, before something like eagerness shoots across his face. "I know first aid. My name is Everest Hart and I know first aid. Can I help you?" This is what his mother had taught him to do—you had to give your name, say you knew first aid, and ask if you could help. You couldn't just start helping someone, after all. Consent was always important.
Dropping his backpack, the boy ferrets about for a moment until he pulls out a bag of thick blue stuff, a piece of wood, and a bandage. Glancing up at Mateo expectantly, Ever patiently waits with his strange assortment of things.
"My turn?" Ever repeats, red-faced as he arrives at Mateo's side, only to see him cradling his wrist. "Oh no.." The boy murmurs helpfully, before something like eagerness shoots across his face. "I know first aid. My name is Everest Hart and I know first aid. Can I help you?" This is what his mother had taught him to do—you had to give your name, say you knew first aid, and ask if you could help. You couldn't just start helping someone, after all. Consent was always important.
Dropping his backpack, the boy ferrets about for a moment until he pulls out a bag of thick blue stuff, a piece of wood, and a bandage. Glancing up at Mateo expectantly, Ever patiently waits with his strange assortment of things.
the words you speak
become the house you live in
become the house you live in
