Starglow Basin asco

he draws from the trench dug by he and @Fiamma; it is enough a small spring gurgles between the wolf-made channels, thin and paltry but water nonetheless.

in the spring he will reroute these channels into grids; it will not match the natural aquifers at luneshale, but it is enough.

he wipes dribble from his lips and sets back on his haunches, listening to the low whine of the desert around him.

For her eighth birthday, Towhee’s son surprised her by saying, -I wanna go see my dad.-

She choked on her spit, jerkily signing back, -Excuse me, your what now?-

His eyes sparkled with mirth as he informed her, -You’re not as quiet as you think when you ‘whisper,’ you know.-

She recovered and stared at him, mind whirling for a few seconds before she blurted, You’ve known it all this time? And then, Why didn’t you say anything?

-I’m saying something now, mom,- he reminded her, still wearing that easy grin of his. -It’s not that big a deal, is it? But I’d like to go see him again.-

But, Towhee spluttered, then fell silent for a solid ten seconds. He doesn’t speak our language—either one of them, she reminded Bushtit weakly.

-We should teach him Ptero. C’mon. Please?-

How could she possibly resist that face? Still feeling more than a little thrown by this revelation, Towhee nodded her agreement, wiped some spittle from her chin, and fell into step beside her son as he frolicked in the direction of the basin.

the young boy comes first, prancing with coltish energy only the youth have mastered. his mother strides behind, smooth and alert. 

soto wipes the water from his chin and glances at them both. he’s pleased to see them take advantage of verapaz’s hospitality, though he wished sangre was not still missing. 

he hopes castel returns with news. if the savages at muat riya have sangre, he will at least be joined by one other warrior as he approaches their temple. 

he motions to the water, stepping back so they may sup their fill if they’d like.

It was hard to keep pace with him, so Towhee didn’t bother. She fell behind, still making every effort to disguise her limp even as her hind leg ached with every step. Getting old is a bitch, she thought, eyes staring ahead at Bushtit’s bouncing figure. If only she could siphon some of his youthful energy… Nah, I wouldn’t even if I could.

Soon enough, they came upon the basin. It wasn’t hard to spot Soto standing by the water’s edge. He beckoned them closer. Towhee wanted to tell Bushtit to slow his roll, though she pinched her lips together and let him go. He knew—on whatever level someone his age could—that Soto had fathered him. It wouldn’t be right to interfere, unless of course Soto did something to merit it.

As she slowly caught up to them, Towhee abruptly wondered if Bushtit knew all about her bum leg too.

Bushtit liked to pretend he was some kind of mastermind, though the truth was that he was simply a very attentive and observant child. He didn’t live in a world as silent as his mother’s, though he still listened much more than he talked, with either limb or tongue. Especially given their nomadic lifestyle, he had absorbed so much in his four months of life.

Yes, he knew about the pain his mother hid from him, just like he knew this Soto guy was his dad. He didn’t fully understand what that title meant, though Bushtit knew the distinction was somehow important. A father was something like a mother, only less involved, from what the boy had gathered. Why that was, he couldn’t say. But he’d begun questioning things lately, his early bashfulness giving way a bit as he came into his inquisitive era.

He might’ve asked Soto outright, had they spoken the same language. Presently, he loped up to the man with a shy smile and wagging tail. His eyes darted around for any sign of Fiamma, the translator, but he didn’t see her. His darkly bright gaze returned to Soto’s face as Bushtit took a seat at his father’s feet.

-“Hi.”-

perhaps a bit bouncier than soto (or towhee with her disguised limp) could manage, the boy sat at his feet. 

soto glances to his mother, then back to the boy’s bright expression. 

and though he refuses to learn the vagaries of that ugly common tongue, he knows what hi means. 

he does not, however, understand the signaling. but he’s come to realize that this was how many spoke to the amazon, including sangre. 

hola, he returns, the crook of his lips turned in an amused grin.

I swear I gave myself permission to skip.

-“That means ‘hello,’ right?”- Bushtit replied, encouraged by the grin on Soto’s face. ¡Hola! he parroted experimentally. I’m Bushtit, in case you don’t remember. And that’s my mom, Towhee, he said, shooting her a grin and a point. And you’re Soto, the boy concluded, turning back to face the man.

Dad, he marveled silently. He wondered how to say that in Soto’s language. He desperately wanted to learn it, as well as teach him the common tongue and Ptero, in turn. Bushtit had so many questions. He wanted to get to know this mythical figure.

Is Fiamma around? he wondered.

more gestures, more speaking. soto's ears clip forward as the boy says hello back to him, this time accompanied by a wild signal of one paw.

a string of words follow. he recognizes only the names - towhee, the amazon -- bushtit, the boy -- and himself, soto.

si, he nods, moving around the animated boy. his attention lingers on towhee yet is pulled when he speaks of fiamma.

does he have news of sangre? soto's lips twitch. fiamma? la llamo?

Soto said a word that sounded just like “see,” though the context didn’t quite fit. Bushtit cocked his head, trying to puzzle out possible meanings. His dad’s reaction to the woman’s name distracted him. It was followed by more words, none of which made a lick of sense to him—nor to Towhee, judging by her helpless shrug when he glanced at her.

Yeah, Fiamma. Maybe she can translate again? he said, gesturing between themselves before thinking to point at his mouth. Fiamma can help us? To talk? he tried.