On a handful of flights his attention was drawn to a flash of pale pink movement far below, but like the Regent he does not consider these as proper encounters. They could be too easily written off as the reflection of the sun on the water, or a large fish at the surface, or even just, to borrow Po's words, a trick of the mind. No, Mateo wanted to see the color of the dolphin's eyes and the speckling of their skin and the way they moved,silent and graceful below the cold, fierce waters. He wanted to see what Zosimus saw for the first time on that fated summer day, and to draw the lines between the monk's experience and his own. It was as though there was a secret hidden there, in the parallels of their experiences, and if Mateo could just line himself up in the right position he would sink into a deeper level of understanding.
He only ever wanted to Know.
"Perhaps one day we both will see them." He says brightly, and if he hears the unspoken words, if he notes (and, of course he does) the way the other man's breath is hitched in his chest, it does not temper his optimism. "Together." He says it with such certainty that it sounds more like a promise than a surmise, and in that moment he commits himself to becoming the master of the pink dolphins, so one day he may show Ipomoea.
Quickly carried away by thoughts of dolphins, the boy has almost forgotten the oddness of this encounter-- until the silence stretches thin, broken only by the whoosh of air that Po had been holding in, and then his words-- "I'm leaving."
Mateo is rarely shocked into silence. It is good for Po that his words have this effect, or else he would not have been able to get in a word else-wise.
"But... but..." He bites back the selfish words "we need you". It almost takes more restraint than he has. His face feels blank, like the blood has been drawn from it. (Oriens, don't let me hurl on my Regent) "Can't someone else go?" He is not so bold to offer himself. Although he has begun to venture farther and farther from the familiar confines of Delumine (thanks in part to that green-eyed girl) he would not so readily offer himself to venture to Denocte in times of war. What good would he be there? What would he do, sing to make everything better?
He clears his throat, remembering his manners, and folds himself into a decadent bow. "I mean, of course! I would be honored. I won't fail you, sir." He should feel honored. ("I know when I can trust someone") He will, later. ("I know when I can trust someone")
But right now, all he really feels is uncertainty.
- - -
@Ipomoea
