Bruno poured his bucket of sand into a large feeding trough, letting the familiar hiss of falling grains soothe his battered nerves. Around him, the air was full of warm voices calling to each other, reassuring and loving in their tones. Every so often, the half-built walls echoed with laughter that was genuine, if a bit sad, a bit strained. The rebuilding of Casita was well on its way.
Bruno wiped his brow and straightened, setting down his bucket, but quickly pulled his arms to his chest in surprise as he spotted a pair of big brown eyes peeking at him from the other side of the trough. A cloud of springy curls gathered above them in a haze of soft brown.
At Bruno’s sharp reaction, the small face ducked slightly lower, though not enough to break eye contact. Bruno blew out a breath and smiled with recognition. He knelt so that his head was just higher than the trough, peering carefully back toward the half-hidden face of his sister's youngest son.
It suddenly occurred to Bruno how different this interaction was than the last time he’d spoken one-on-one with this kid, in the walls and in his room. All the confidence of the child who’d winked at him, passing along a stuffed jaguar “for the nerves” while riding the back of a very real, very large jaguar, seemed to be gone. He supposed they’d all been through a lot since then, though.
“Hey there,” Bruno said quietly. The boy didn’t respond, but his eyes raised a fraction of an inch higher over the horizon of wood. “I-I’ve been meaning to tell you—um, thank you, for letting me use your room, and your little jaguar. It did help.”
That drew him up high enough for Bruno to catch the smile that lit up his face.
“I knew it would,” he said, so quiet Bruno almost couldn’t hear him over the noise around them.
“Yeah, heh, you’re pretty smart,” he replied with a grin. “Hey, I’m Bruno, by the way.” Bruno brushed his hand against his ruana to knock off the excess sand before holding it out over the trough between them. “I-I know you know that, but we didn’t really have time for, um, proper introductions, heh, you know, before.”
The kid stood enough for his shoulders to clear the top of the trough and put his small hand into Bruno’s. He was still smiling a small, shy smile. “I’m Antonio.”
“It’s really, really nice to meet you, Antonio,” Bruno said sincerely, giving his hand a little shake before letting go.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Tío,” Antonio replied. Bruno’s smile faltered just a little into something a bit more sad, but he quickly recovered it.
“Hey! I-I-I need to go get some stuff from town—for the spackle. Want to come? I, uh, could use the extra hands, you know, to carry things. Jorge is good at mixing but, heh, he’s a lightweight. Can’t carry a thing if it’s heavier than a trowel.”
Antonio nodded and moved around to join him. Bruno raised his eyebrows in surprise when his sobrino reached up and quietly took his strange tío’s hand. After a second’s hesitation, Bruno squeezed the little hand back and they started walking down the hill, carefully stepping over the large crack that spread through the street down to the village. Antonio glanced around curiously as they walked.