Luneshale Pass you keep sayin' that i'm nothing like my father

they spoke over each other, which left her chuckling as the boy stumbled over his words to explain himself.

tutto bene, she assured him, grinning. a pleasure to meet you, bushtit. soto—is he your padre? ah, your father? fiamma amended, in case his grasp on the tongue still lacked.

why else would the amazon's child learn soto's language? and she had come to witness fiamma's heat, and unsuccessful coupling. . .

it's not his fault, she told herself, despite the ugly envy that rose in her breast at sight of him. children shouldn't bear the sins of their parents; she knew that all too well.

you live nearby? fiamma asked, cocking her head.