Jade Fern Grove he's got looks that books take pages to tell

A word was said that he knew not the meaning of, nor had he ever heard before. Yet there came no pause after it, not a moment in which he could toss out a question regarding it. No, the male had continued to speak whilst Xan, well, listened. He was taken by surprise, as was depicted across his face when he’d looked towards Sriracha. Eyes widened just enough to make a noticeable difference as his ears perked, mouth agape. One, two, then three seconds slipped by before he’d pulled his mouth shut and looked away, confused not only by the words themselves, but by the feeling that they had caused to stir within his chest: embarrassment. For effort to be sought more so than actual, promised results wasn’t a new concept to him, but to hear that simply trying would prevent him from becoming a failure was still shocking and strange. Into his mind had he drilled the belief that it was only the end result that determined if a being was a success or a failure, but that belief had just been shattered and he couldn’t figure out how to properly handle this new information he’d been given. So, Alexander did what Alexander does best and ignored it all; the feeling in his chest, the uncertainty of his mind, everything.

It was easy to push passed what had just happened when the male spoke again. This time he shared the meaning of bueno, and then proceeded to make a joke. The boy hadn’t laughed, however, he’d only nodded and repeated the word once or twice within his head, committing it to memory whilst also using it to wipe his thoughts clean of any and all confusion. Thankfully, there came more words that assisted in the cleansing of his brain, the answer to his inquiry having been the final swipe needed to give him a spotless conscious. Briefly had his tail swayed, only a handful of swishes having been made before he’d ceased the motion entirely. “That’s good,” he’d noted, speaking partially to himself. “I don’t want her to hate me.” Or anyone, for that matter. Already had he experienced enough of hatred being directed his way in the short life that he’d lived thus far, and so not an ounce more was desired.

Upon hearing the syllables of his given name, his attention was caught. The way the moniker sounded when spoken by Sriracha made it almost tolerable, but never would he prefer it over his nickname. Of course, it made him glad to hear that he’d continue to be called Xan, but the relief was quick to change into interest. “You have a daughter?” was his first question, disbelief evident in his tone. Immediately after and the question was followed up by more as he first asked, “What’s she like?” and then, “Why’d you leave her?” Was he like Scarlett? Willing to just abandon his child? He hoped not.