"Oh, that too, but I meant the remark about frogolds."

"It's a figure of speech!"

"Then it's a racist figure of speech. How would you like if people went around saying that you can't trust cats, they burn everything they touch -"

"- which is true of kittens - some kittens - and the same goes with frogolds. The only ones you need to worry are outright hardened thieves, and taddies who don't have hands yet. Frogolds despise thieves just as much as we do, and the comedic character of a yokel frogold who thinks anything not marked is for public use doesn't exist, if it ever did. Maybe it happened once and people thought it was so funny..."

"... Sorry."

"No, you're right. The point of the Allheart Alliance is supposed to be treating everyone well, right."

"In theory. It's really just about making peace between the elves and everyone else."

"That just means we have to do better ourselves.

It's good that you stick to your principles. I like that about you."

"I shouldn't snap at you.

I don't want to make excuses... but it's been complicated at work, involving frogolds in particular, and stuff I can't tell you about. But. I still shouldn't snap at you."

Sigh. "It's okay."

Lick?

Yeah sure they can go back to grooming each other. Grumpily.

He was awake for some of that and trying very very hard to be quiet and still, and make sense of it.

Catfolk. Whisshopers. Human. That's about all he recognizes aside from connecting words like 'I' or 'the'. 'Alfheart Alliance'-- Maybe? It was a big, important-sounding word for this place. Calsa was asking him where he's from. So they're probably talking about him, and he can't tell what they're saying, aaaah... And 'work'? That's why the last person Calsa drew wasn't here. He can guess what it means.

He will 'wake up' after a while. And unless interrupted go climb out and go to the sand table, and doodle a little log cabin and the circular weave-y basket shape that holds magic for later.

"He's up. We should get up now too, to visit the courthouse before work, so you can tell the mill how long you'll be gone."

"Mm."

They rise and dress - the same clothes as yesterday. Calsa lights the under-floor fire and a sconce. They munch on disks.

"Can humans have meat? I know he's not a human, but his physical form looks pretty human..."

"Yeah, humans can eat meat, but I think they don't require it. Whisshoppers too."

Calsa breaks off a small piece of her disk and holds it out for Nico. "What do you think of this, kiddo?" (It has a faint meaty smell and is soaked with something salty and fermented.)

"Ooh, what are you drawing?"

He has also drawn a rabbit sitting still and a mean looking stick figure with big diagonal-slashes of glaring eyes and a beard and an axe.

"House. Um... Magic? [Rabbit. Dad.] I don't like him."

He sniffs and makes a face but says, "I eat that. But it's [sour]. Like the other thing."

"Merta, is there a reason to make a house look like that?"

"It's a fun texture! Something with light maybe? But he's from the deep drydark..."

"If you don't like him then I don't like him."

Convenient that he prefers the cheaper entirely-plant food.

"Is the sand magic? Or is it a drawing of magic?"

Should he answer? Should he keep secrets? Magic is very very oooooh shiny. Which is kind of scary.

He shrugs and starts drawing a tree.