This morning's prompt was 'clouds'.
I've been working on moving around in a star sector, again...
***
Alex lay head down hill on the edge of the shade from the old apple tree so he could watch the passing clouds. Frank Costigan found his son there and asked, "Mind if I join you?"
"Sure," the nine year old boy said, face and tone unreadable.
"It's okay if you want to be alone."
Alex shrugged. "We're going to have a talk, now or later, it doesn't matter."
Frank sighed and squatted down, groaned and turned to lay uphill with his head next to his son's.
"It does matter, son. We don't..."
Frank shut up and stared up at the sky. The shapes resolved into things as the artist and the fighter in him saw a Markov, a bird, a sailing ship, a bear and a honey pot-
"Have you eaten?" Alex asked in Ilshani, and Frank turned his head to the boy, watching him react.
"I could eat," Frank responded in the same language, literally, 'I have some room,' which was the traditional response to the traditional greeting. "Why are we doing formal Ilshani?"
Alex didn't answer right away, but tapped at the air in public mode, where the local emitters shared what he was doing to Frank's eyes. The menu offered food and drink from the farm and its larder. Alex ordered for them, a Markov ale for his father and some sort of juice for himself and an assortment of finger food for them both.
"Where do you get that?" Frank asked, indicating the ale.
"I traded for it."
"For me?"
"For the adults, basically. Grandpa likes it."
"Alex, do you resent us for telling you what to do, as a kid? Me, your mother, your grandmother?"
Alex gave him a look and Frank laughed.
"I get the point you're making. all of this, the garden, your 'work', is a hundred years beyond some dumb kid building a fort or a go kart-"
"What's a go kart?"
"You are messing with me."
"I'll look it up."
Frank sighed. "I guess I let things slide too much-"
"I'm okay!"
"Yeah, but that's kind of the problem, kiddo. It's not on you, to..." he waved vaguely and sat up. "You're so clever and independent and lack for very little, your basic needs are met, but you and your siblings are not an after thought. We didn't have you to feed you into the needy abundance of the Conservancy- well, I didn't. I love them, but I'm not always so sure about your Mom and Grandmother."
"The work gives us meaning, the work gives us hope-"
"No! You! You give yourself hope and meaning! Hope and meaning are a gift you give yourself, kiddo. I love you, we love you, and you are my hope and meaning, okay?"
"Are you crying?"
"No. Are you?"
"Of course I am."
"Then... maybe I am. Don't tell Mom."
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