Sleeping Dragon wildwood

She hadn't understood.

The boy's attempt at silently explaining to her why he needed the leaves hadn't been comprehended like he'd expected it to be, which left him feeling frustrated—even more so than how he'd felt when she wouldn't give him his plant back. Rather, she'd started to talk about it, having called it poison ivy and, in a way, told him that it was the cause of his itching. The way in which she'd spoken had been nothing like how Portia spoke to him, however, and so he'd ignored all that had been said. It was often that he understood more than what was expected of him, and perhaps even more than what he should. It was all thanks to his ability to reason well for a child his age, and so he enjoyed listening to the adults speak as they normally would, rather than in some simplified variation of their chosen language.

Sighing, it became apparent that he'd not get anywhere unless he used his words. It bothered him far more than it should have, but perhaps that was only because Lucia was viewed as the enemy. Once again, he'd gestured towards the leaves, but this time he'd added, "For Portia," to the end of his motion. "She teaches." Everything he'd said had been shortened a great deal, his inner thoughts being far more elaborate. Unlikely it was, though, that he'd ever actually speak to someone else in the same way as he thought to himself.