At first, it sounded like a good idea, both Geralt and Eskel had come up with it and it sounded more than hilarious. The thought of salty dessert was funny and maybe even tasty! After all, they had tried other foods that were supposed to be one thing, but ended up being another and still tasted good. But of course, if they were to pitch that idea to Vesemir, the old man would probably refuse. Which was why they didnât exactly let him know of their idea.
What Eskel did not think of before and during their little prank, was the effort that would go into that dessert. He failed to think of Vesemirâs work. It was always Mommy Nenneke who would do the cooking, so Eskel did not realise that maybe it wasnât all so easy for Vesemir to cook as it was to Nenneke. Once they were caught, and Eskel sent to his room to think of what he did, boredom and annoyance made him actually think of what he did, made him think about how he threw Vesemirâs effort out of the window for just a couple of laughs, and a tartelette that tasted disgusting.
The boy sat on his bed, his head lowered as guilt was quick to creep up his back and surround him whole. When he heard his fatherâs voice he didnât want to turn around, given that a few tears had been shed and his eyes were burning, which meant they were puffy, red and, most importantly, obvious. âHm?â He merely asked, knowing how his tiny voice would break whenever he cried.
Hands still wet from washing all the dishes, Vesemir stands against the doorframe. He crosses his arms, looking down at the floor. Being a single parent is tough, being a widower more so. Deep down, he thinks the boys are adapting still, even if unconsciously. They were learning how to deal with loss yet again. Poor boys, whose biological family was only God knew where. Then they lost the one mother figure they had.
âI want to talk about the salt incidentâ, he says, raising his gaze finally towards Eskel. He knows the prank was harmless. It was not like he played with the carâs gasoline or found a snake and hid it inside the toilet. As long as Eskel -- and Geralt -- understands that it was wrong, Vesemir is content. And perhaps they do. Vesemir has to yet check on Geralt, but seeing a red faced Eskel makes him delay that encounter a couple of minutes more.
His arm goes over Eskelâs shoulder and he pulls him against his body, his thumb slowly running against the boyâs shoulder. He dislikes it immensely when his boys cry mostly because he was bad at stopping it or at offering comfort. But he has to try, for all of their sakes. It was what Nenneke would have wanted. âIs there anything you want to say?â
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