English was without reason not one of his favorite languages. Perhaps because he took the Norse/Icelandic quickly, as far as his comprehension went, anyway, limited though it was. He was a child and all he needed to know was that he, like everything, had a favorite language. It didn’t stem beyond anything more important and deep than that, currently. She told him, presumably, was the metallic flying thing was. He glimpsed up at her when she spoke the thing’s name though he did not attempt to mimic it, before he looked back just in time to watch it zoom off. The boy frowned at it’s disappearance but was contented with his mother’s affectionate touches and playful tugs on his ear. Ein let out a fit of giggles but was attempting to bide his time for his attack of vengeance.
