into the thick of it ➤ trying to read/learn irish gaelic

[Sympathy]

♛ IT'S A FUNNY THING, IT'S NEVER LONELY. I REALLY CAN'T COMPLAIN BECAUE IT FEELS LIKE HOME TO ME. TELL ME TO QUIT; AND TALKING SHIT ABOUT. I REALLY GOTTA SAY, THIS BOTTOM AIN'T SO BAD. —

His family was interesting. Like, his dads and Leo and his big sisters were cool too, but his Uncle and Keona and the-- the other "fae" he thinks his dad calls them. It's what he is too. Or was he half? Leonidas was unsure about a lot of what made up his cultural background that was from Seamus's side of the family. But he really did want to learn-- as difficult as trying to make Leo sit down and learn was. His uncle had said some words that he didn't quite understand when he first greeted the child and his brother. It was unfamiliar, yet familiar, considering he had been catching snippets of whatever the language was from his dad.


Let's be clear, he did absolutely nothing wrong. Leonidas definitely did NOT lurk through some of his families' possessions, and he sure as heck DID NOT steal a few Irish texts and run off to some remote part of camp to mess with them. So hypothetically speaking, if he did in fact do this, he could be found at the beach almost tucked into a small cove and sprawled out on his belly; his upper half nearly slung over a large old book as he made attempts to figure out the jumbled mess on the pages. Reading sure was hard when you literally didn't know how to read.

[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #be9b7f; font-size: 24px;"]— LEONIDAS Ó FAOLÁIN ♛

#psychosocial.

[OWEN.]

tracking.

[Keona.]

[div style="width: 527px; line-height: 1.4; text-align: justify; font-family: palatino; font-size: 11px;"][align=center]— blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly —

The soft crinkle of paper and the smell of dust soothed her.  On days where the need for space and quiet resounded most strongly in the tiny Fae, her uncle's tree house became refuge.  He owned nearly nothing but books.  Countless pages upon pages, fictional and nonfictional alike.  Yet pale eyes could not read.  So soft in volume, her uncle oft spoke, reading aloud the words unreachable to her.  Until lessons began to grant her another way.  With soft paws brushing over gentle marks, Keona stepped into the world of literature, learning to read the languages she spoke.

She spoke three.  The tongue of her fathers and her uncle, her mother's and the common language spoken throughout the Typhoon.  Some left her tongue more often.  Others left quietly, mutters or curses or simple words.  Some came more naturally than others.  Gaelic flew off her tongue like second nature but it was clear her mother's tongue suited her more.  Perhaps in personal preference or the desperate need to hang on to something of she no longer had.  A closeness to a mother long gone on the way she spoke.

To that uncle with nothing but books the little feline intended her destination but a fresh scent trail left her paused on the sand.  The concept of brothers still bothered her, a strange and foreign matter.  How her far her fathers and uncle seemed apart... Brothers seemed more trouble than anything else.  Worse so, they'd been a complete surprise to her, who had bridged the gap between herself and Séamus... Not well enough perhaps.  Though a part of her argued he, like her, kept quite a bit private.

A small frown dusted her maw but a curious glint lit in glossy, seagreen hues.  With a flick of her spotted tail, the child followed the trail.  "Aloha?" Tucked away this small cove was, a natural refuge the island offered.  Still, she lingered outside a moment before slowly padding over.  Dust in the air.  Old pages.  For a second, she thought to look for Uncle Raziel.  "Are you readin'?" Perhaps she shared something with this brother.

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✯ — keona sibéal ó faoláin. female. striker of the typhoon. blind. rusty spotted cat.  ref. bio.