[ Someone he loves— someone he recently murdered— would say You've been trespassed upon by an infant. There's a toddler under the bed. The burglar is all of two years old.
She isn't here. But John cannot help but look pitying, and perhaps a touch amused, when this astonishingly young boy crawls out from under his bed and stands shamefaced in God's own bedroom.
He tucks the Togepi to his chest— it makes an incredible noise, genuinely amazing, he'd still be cooing hellos if he didn't have this situation to sort out— and regards the boy with his very best expression of benevolent patience. It's one he's good at. Only a little undermined by the stubby little arms trying to poke him in the jaw. ]
You've taken something of a wrong turn, if that's the case. I take it the skeletons didn't give very helpful directions.
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She isn't here. But John cannot help but look pitying, and perhaps a touch amused, when this astonishingly young boy crawls out from under his bed and stands shamefaced in God's own bedroom.
He tucks the Togepi to his chest— it makes an incredible noise, genuinely amazing, he'd still be cooing hellos if he didn't have this situation to sort out— and regards the boy with his very best expression of benevolent patience. It's one he's good at. Only a little undermined by the stubby little arms trying to poke him in the jaw. ]
You've taken something of a wrong turn, if that's the case. I take it the skeletons didn't give very helpful directions.