River That Flows Two Ways [the Netherlands]

[America]

— 1615, somewhere along the edge of the lower Hudson River in present day New York

It sure was getting noisy lately.

This was all the small boy could think to himself as he as silently as possible pushed his way through a bush or two, maybe three, stubby fingers clutched tightly onto the hem of his newly gifted makeshift trousers. A strange and soft spoken but rather kind man had left them on the ground for him when he was too spooked to come near, perhaps thinking he was just another native child in need of some clothing.

When he actually thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he was. Regardless of that, for whatever reason or another, all of these people took a great liking to him. They took him in for periods of time, fed him, gave him a space to sleep. They spoke words surely overflowing with wisdom that he couldn’t always properly grasp. He even wound up with playmates on occasion.

Even though these kindhearted strangers took care of him, he always supposed he wasn’t a native child, because then, wouldn’t he have somewhere to stay—forever? Not just for a few days and nights? He didn’t. He roamed, because he wasn’t sure where he belonged.

The smallest of smiles graced his lips as he neared the riverside. He never let it bother him all too much.

The unfamiliar noisiness were part of an entirely different matter. Those did bother him. It was a little strange and sort of unnerving, but then again, what did he know? It wasn’t like he had been there forever. He hadn’t actually known how long he had been there, wherever there was, but it certainly didn’t feel all too long to him. It could have very well been much noisier somewhere nearby in a different time. The thought made something funny twist in the pit of his stomach. It left him feeling curious, yet frightened all the same.

He sat down, drawing his knees to his chest, holding himself. For those few moments, he peered down into the water, as if it secretly contained all of the answers to his questions and then some. For all he knew, it could very well have.

[the Netherlands]

This place sure was quiet. He silently sat against the fort they built - they only finished it a few months ago - and stared at the sky. They had found these ruins, abandoned a long time ago. The men called it Castle Island. It had never looked like a castle; not now, not in previous years. He knew that. But he'd let them be, as the name was oddly fitting. It was a little island, in the middle of a little river, with a little safe house on top of that. It would be their castle for at least a few years. Hopefully longer.

He closed his eyes for a bit and sighed irritated when his people started poking into the campfires, cheering as flames flew up high, singing songs and telling stupid stories in their mother tongue. There was nothing wrong with that. He was glad they weren't wasting their provisions and weren't getting drunk. He forbade it. He needed his men to be fresh, clean, and overall; unoffensive. You needed mutual respect in order to build relationship, to build diplomacy's. It was hard to gain and easy to lose. He didn't want them drunk and offending the Natives who came to them to trade furs. It would be the beginning of a new, long diplomacy and he wasn't going to let anybody ruin that.

The voices became louder. He sighed, again, picked up his hat and marched straight past his men. One of them asked where he was going. "Just a walk," he answered gruffly. "I need to clear my mind while all of you party around campfires like idiots and refuse to live in the actual building right next to you." He was being unfair to those men. He knew that, but he just didn't care for it at the moment. "Don't try to get lost, sir!" he heard the same man calling after him, catching the amused undertone. He sent a glare towards his people, planted his hat firmly on his head and stomped away. It was true the Dutchman didn't have a great sense of direction and every city looked like exactly the same to him, but.. to be honest, it was hard to get lost here. He wasn't going far, after all. Besides, you would be blind to not spot the fort on a few miles distance. Or deaf. The men were unusually loud today.

He took a few deep breaths. Things were going well. His land had been stuck for ages, both economically, socially, and everything. They had had a lot of bad floods and there hadn't been much they could do. Vikings traded, but also raided and although he had been a province of the Holy Roman Empire, he never noticed a lot of that. He'd been the poor one. That little piece of land in the corner. Then suddenly things.. were going well. Things were going fantastic. For someone who had never been quite his own boss it was a little overwhelming. The Republic - he was a Republic now - had traveled around the world, had been to Indonesia and Japan, to Gold Coast and now .. this place. This gigantic new continent, pure and untouched by industry. He had so much power and he wasn't sure how to handle it all.

His economy flourished and his cities attracted all kinds of people; artists, philosophers, doctors. Technically the war with Spain - the war for his own independence - wasn't over. They had a truce. However, the war didn't concern him. All this new power .. he was concerned it would blind him. He had found a great leader in William of Orange; however, he was long dead. Of course the man would die; no one lived forever. Still, it was quite a bit of a shock when he learnt this man had been murdered.

Everything was just so intense and he could feel it was just the beginning. He was a down-to-earth man, but that didn't mean he was immune to arrogance and pride. It would get to him one day.

The sun had gone down about an hour ago. Yet, it was still rather light and the warmth had dropped down to a gentle temperature. There was a light breeze. It was an amazing feeling. It was peaceful and for the first time in decades he felt he could let down his guard. For the first time in centuries he found true silence. If he did his best, he could hear his men singing, but it was fainting away, slowly. He heard crickets, birds. Bushes rustling in the wind. And wet. Without realising it, he had reached a really shallow point of the river. It wasn't more than a puddle, but he still got his feet soaked.

Murmuring something unpleasant he sat down and took off his shoes. He wasn't going back with wet footwear. He could sit here for a little longer.

[America]

It occurred to the boy that night was descending. The flow of time was something that more often than not escaped him. It didn’t occur to him, because it wasn’t like there was anywhere he needed to be, after all.

He had been dawdling, spreading his dirtied fingers and toes amidst the water, lightly calloused by dirt and bark. Another smile was finding its way to his features. It felt refreshing, like it always did. He knew the water would soon be growing colder, so he wasn’t going to allow himself to get too comfortable, but he’d relish in the feeling for a few more moments.

He might have thought at that moment that he never allowed himself to get comfortable, but he didn’t.

In another minute’s time, he was pulling himself to his feet, gaze wavering toward the sky. He was just beginning to see stars when a brief and faint sloshing noise caught his attention. The child expected to find an abnormally rippling patch of water at a glance—the usual lingering remnants of a fish’s jump—but he didn’t. Instead, he was faced with a strange man, taking a seat a little further down the river.

Something flashed in his eyes, his mouth dropping into a small O in unison. This outlandish man most certainly wasn’t a native. He hadn’t set his gaze upon him once before, and on top of that, he dressed himself so much differently than anyone in this land did. It was almost fascinating how different he looked, especially in terms of his hair. The boy had never seen anything like it.

It looked so.. fluffy. Would it be as fluffy to the touch?

He turned his body the rest of the way, leisurely beginning to make his way over to this peculiar man. All the while, he placed his thumb between his teeth, lightly chewing. The uncomfortable twisting feeling in his stomach was taking root, but for the moment, he didn’t pay it any mind.

[the Netherlands]

He gently patted the back of his shoes to knock out the water and placed them next to him. This land.. it was massive. He'd seen charts of it, but of course they had no idea how large it actually was. There was so much that had yet to be discovered. What would there be behind the forests, the rivers, the mountains? Would there be a desert or another ice covered place, or maybe something entirely different, something they hadn't encountered before? Something new? The child in him wanted to travel further, to explore the areas that hadn't been explored yet. To go on an adventure. It was something young children would do; exploring the forests near their house. It was exactly the same; just on a larger scale. He smiled a bit. Childish thoughts.

But in his own opinion, he grew up too fast all of a sudden. He was stuck as a child for more than just a few centuries and in less than three hundred years he'd grown up to an young adult. Translating that into human years.. it was crazy. Went through puberty twice as fast and quickly rising from an unimportant little province somewhere in Europe to a blooming economy, successfull in just about everything. It was going so fast.

The Republic took off his hat and ran his fingers through the long, white, fluffy feather. To be honest, he disliked modern day's fashion, except for maybe the big, black hats including feather. He hated the breeches - especially since he'd had another grow spurt recently and they were two centimeters too short, again - and refused to wear the ridiculous oversized decorative collars. He was dressed like a noble merchant - although he preferred the long light brown coat, scarf and boots - in order to 'blend in' with his people and not sticking out too much. As if he wasn't already, as a foreigner in this foreign country.

He played absentmindedly with the hat, turning it round and round, staring to the other side of the river. Apart from some natives nearby, they hadn't seen anyone else. But there must be. There must be something. It wasn't just a no mans land; people lived here, for a pretty long time. And they were so different from everyone in Europe. It was fascinating how the Natives lived their lives and how they lived side by side with nature itself. Meanwhile Europe, center of the world, built further and further everyday, destroying the earth slowly but surely.

But.. what did it matter? There was plenty of room for both humans and animals. Especially now with all this new land in Africa and .. this. Europe was the center of the world, after all. Europe was the center of the human beings.

The Dutchman sighed and picked up a small boulder. It was a nice boulder. Smooth, soft, cold in his hands. As usual, he sank too far in his thoughts. The world was just so complicated, and through the eyes of a country, it was even more. There had been times he wished he could enjoy the simple life of humans, but then again.. he'd miss this life. Being able to travel the world in more than one lifetime, to experience the different time periods.. it was great. He wouldn't want to miss that, not even for the trade of human life. He threw the stone away; it dived into the water with a loud splash.

It was such a nice, quiet evening. He should go back before the evening completely fell, but he'd rather stay here. Surrounded by nothing but nature only touched by Gods hands. And it was beautiful.

[America]

The curiosity driven child stopped dead in his tracks as the man took to tossing a stray stone into the water. The resulting splash nearly made him squeak, but he slapped his hands over his mouth just in time, silencing any betraying sounds. As he stared, eyes wide, he couldn’t help but think that it was such a strange thing for a person to do, simply throwing stone like that without aim. He’d never seen anyone do such a thing. Maybe he had been aiming for something after all. Was he trying to catch fish, or perhaps playing a game? He supposed it could be fun, but he couldn’t really know for sure.

It took him another moment for him to fully resign his arms and swallow the nervous lump that had formed in his throat.

Something in the back of his mind prodded at him, urging him to fear this foreign person with all of his being, but why should he be afraid? There was no way that someone with such fluffy hair would try to harm him in any way. Who knew? He might even prove to be an enjoyable playmate.

With this serving as his ambition, he pushed on, paying careful mind for jagged rocks beneath his feet. He couldn’t have been any more than an arm’s reach apart when he came to a halt, at least from his perspective. His acquitted blue orbs now focused in, taking in the stranger’s features. Upon closer inspection, this man looked to him as if he were tired. The blond couldn’t help but frown at this. Had he not a snug pile of leaves to return to? If so, that would be horrible! Everyone should have one. Regardless, if this proved to be the case, he might not want to play with him after all, being so weary.

After a moment’s hesitation, he supposed at the very least, he might not argue with his mere presence.

The boy made a small noise, so as to make sure he knew he was so close. He didn’t want to spook him, after all. He knew for a fact that he wouldn’t like someone he didn’t know sneaking up on him. He would be horribly frightened.

[the Netherlands]

It was very quiet around here. Apart from the loud splash as the small rock fell into the water, crippling it, there were no voices, or leaves rustling in the wind, or rain. Or crickets. He had only noticed it just now, but the crickets had stopped chirping a few minutes ago. As if someone disturbed them. He smiled a bit. It probably would've been a small animal. The Dutchman stared at the horizon once again. He still couldn't comprehend how massive the world was. Centuries ago, when he was still young he thought his own lands were already that big.. until he caught a glimpse on the maps of Vikings that visited him every now and then. Sometimes to trade, sometimes.. to raid. His own lands were not all that big compared to Norway, or Sweden, or even the territories of the Franks.

Then a few centuries later, he learnt about Spain, about Lithuania and Poland, about Russia. About India, about China. About deserts and mountains, oceans, ice poles and tropics. The world was so diverse and until a few decades ago he had no idea the world could be this varied. It was intriguing, really. All those different climates and how life forms adapted to some extreme circumstances; it really interested him and if he hadn't had more important things to do, he would travel from library to library in order to learn more about this behavior on life on earth. Alas, he didn't have the privilege to be human and devote his life to studies. Instead, he was given the opportunity to live through evolutions, ideas, science and theories, to gather more wisdom than any human genius or philosopher.

If he was being honest with himself, it was a fair trade.

He caught himself staring absentmindedly into the water, when suddenly a noise was heard. That couldn't have been a cricket. Slowly he turned his head - call it paranoia, but he was worried something bad had happened and he was ambushed by either natives or animals. Much to his surprise he found a young boy instead. The Republic inspected him. He couldn't possibly be a native. He was blond - he had never seen any native who was blond - and his skin tone was too light to pass for one either. He frowned slightly at the child, wondering why it was here all by himself.

It must be lost. For a moment he had a brilliant idea; he knew for a fact French settlers had come to America before. Therefore, this child must've belonged to them. Maybe there was a small village nearby; after all, they hadn't done much exploring and well, they had stumbled upon the ruins of a fort. Europeans had come here before. The child still hadn't said anything; or at least, he hadn't heard. It was probably frightened.

"Bonjour?" he greeted him, not too sure about his French speaking abilities.

[America]

"Bonjour?"

The boy’s mouth fell open in wordless silence. He tilted his head. Was the stranger trying to communicate with him? Well, of course he was. Everyone had a method of communication, didn’t they? At the very least, those he’d grown accustomed to did. Even though speech didn’t make much verbatim sense to him, he still managed to develop some sort of sense of grasping the vibes it gave off. He found a way to understand without understanding.

When it came to himself, he got along just fine not uttering so much as a word. Though, it wasn’t like he knew any words to begin with. He tended to get his point across, if he ever had one, through jabbing his fingers in certain directions, and the like. Luckily for him, there was never anything complicated to say. He couldn’t have complicated thoughts. He didn’t yet possess the supply of language, ideas or experience with which to have them.

For now, everything would be oh so painfully simple.

Subconsciously, his fingers found their way to the hem of his pants once more. What if this person couldn’t apprehend his means of physical communication? Would he have to rely on something else? There wasn’t much else for him to rely on. Once again, he had to remind himself that the unfamiliar man didn’t seem at all like the kind that would harm him.

As a matter of fact, he knew for sure he wouldn’t harm him. For some reason, the more attention the blond provided to him, the more he grew attracted to him. It was as if they shared some sort of invisible connection. As bizarre as it was, he felt that they were somehow one in the same.

Following a moment of reluctance, he made another small noise, this time with a bit more volume.

[the Netherlands]

The child hadn't ran away yet. At least that was something. However, he now wasn't so sure the boy was French. All he got was a puzzled expression. No word was said. Maybe the boy was mute? But then again, even if he was, he sure could've heard him and give him some look of recognition. The blonde however showed surprise rather than happiness because he met someone he could understand. So the boy wasn't French. There weren't many other nations exploring the lands of America yet, and especially not this far up. The Dutchman had actually done his research. There was no need to meddle in each others businesses, not in America. The continent was massive, unimaginably big and he wasn't so stupid to choose the spot everyone chose to settle down. A random thought popped up. The boy couldn't possibly be mute; didn't he make a noise about a minute ago? Maybe he should try English.

"Hello? Do you understand me?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. He observed the child, wondering if it could speak a language at all. Maybe the poor child had been abandoned and lived from the lands. However, that theory would also be untrue, as the boy's pants looked clean and fairly new, not tattered and worn. What exactly was going on here?

For a moment, he stared into the water, poking it with a small stick, distorting his reflection. He remembered when he was a child. He didn't understand a single bit of why he was so different from the rest. He often traveled between two or three towns near the coast and the villagers were very nice. But, because he was often around people, he learnt languages pretty fast. The constant foreign influence helped a lot as well. He hadn't been as helpless as this boy, who - he was pretty sure of - also had no real caretaker. None of his own. No.. real family.

The young Republic wanted to learn the child's name. But.. would he even understand such a concept? He turned his attention back to him when he made yet another noise and smiled a little, to let him know he heard it. While he seemed to be calm, he was actually panicking, not knowing what to do with this kid. It couldn't even speak! What was he going to do? Pointing at things only worked to a certain extent. Why did he even care so much about a little boy? Why was he so unusual? So many questions, without any answers. Suddenly he realised the child was still standing there. Awkwardly he patted on the grass next to him, inviting him to sit.

And now what?

[America]

"Hello? Do you understand me?"

The child squirmed a little, looking somewhat uncomfortable. His clutch to the material of his pants only tightened. He'd never heard anything like the noises this man was making in all of his questionable life. What if he angered this stranger in not being able to comprehend him? He didn't want to make him angry. He just wanted to make friends, but that was seeming more and more impossible as each second flitted on by.

Just as he was feeling a desperate kind of wetness well up in his eyes, he found himself distracted, observing the way he seemed to play with the water of the river, bending it about with none other than the use of something that had surely fallen from a nearby tree. He had never thought of doing anything like that. Perhaps this person was of the playful sorts after all. He wondered what kind of games he knew, and if he would be willing to teach them to him.

The blond began to fidget upon apparently earning his gaze once more, but seeing the sudden slight curve to his lips, he stilled. A warm and odd kind of reassurance spread through him. Before he could think anything of it, his lips were twitching and curling up in response, almost on their own. Were they communicating somehow? He wasn't all too sure, but at the very least, it didn't seem like he'd grown frustrated with him in any way, at least from what he could tell.

His eyes widened with recognition when he then patted the ground just beside him. This was something he was familiar with, and he didn't hesitate in taking advantage it, moving a small bit closer before seating himself down. All of the sudden, the stranger seemed immensely large compared to him, but it wasn't frightening in the least bit. The curious and seemingly sourceless warmth still radiating somewhere in his chest comforted him. There might be hope yet.

Not knowing what else he could hope to do, the boy then lifted his better hand, making sure to splay his fingers, a common gesture he recalled witnessing between the natives a number of times. He never used it himself, but given the situation, he didn't see a way around it. It usually gave way to a positive response, from what he'd seen. Perhaps he would understand.

[the Netherlands]

He wasn't the best at reading body language, but he did notice the little boy wasn't exactly happy about the whole situation. He looked distressed - perhaps it was scared? By the lord, he hoped not. It would probably more at ease when he discovered what language it spoke. Nor English, nor French, and there weren't a lot of countries who'd been in the Americas this far. Norway - or Norge, as he used to introduce himself - had mentioned stumbling upon a strange land, but he believed it was closer to the poles. It also could've been big talk, bluff, to impress the young Low Countries. But even if he did manage to find land back in the nine hundreds, he didn't know any Norwegian, so that knowledge wouldn't have done him good. The Natives - his men called him the Indians, after India, but it was a term the Dutchman preferably wouldn't use - did have a language of his own. They had a lot of languages; even though he didn't understand them he did notice a difference between different tribes.

The Republic broke the twig in a few small pieces and spreaded them out on the flattened grass close to him. He'd read something, that the Natives used to communicate with twigs, rocks, and other materials in a sort of sign language. The Portuguese were here before and one of them had stumbled upon a few signs in tall grass; a trace almost invisible. The twigs were placed carefully next to each other. It couldn't have been an animal nor would it be the wind. To be honest, he was a bit skeptic about this twig language. From what he'd seen so far, the Natives didn't travel a lot. What would they gain from leaving signs in the grass? It would only attract other tribes. Still, maybe the children were using it to play, or something like that. These people developed themselves in a much different way than the Europeans. They were much closer to nature. He plucked from behind him and placed them carefully above the twigs. There, trees.

Maybe he could communicate with the boy via images and drawings. After all, speech hadn't always existed. If the people from a long time ago could communicate with each other, then he should be able as well. It was strange, though. It seemed like the boy belonged to no one. Babies didn't know how to speak, but learnt it in their first few years. Babies can't do much else than crying, sleeping, eating and exploring the world with their senses. One of their senses was hearing, and they learnt how to talk from their environment, from everyone they heard speaking. This boy's age was beyond of that from a baby. The only possible explanation was that he must've lived on his own.

Suddenly, the Dutch felt for the boy.

The boy himself obviously had no clue what he was missing out on. Glad, and relieved that the gesture was returned by a shy smile on the child's face, he smiled back, once again. Maybe they weren't speaking, but they were at least acknowledging each other. It was a good thing. He frowned when the boy lifted his hand; then he realised he was doing that greet he'd seen sometimes. He raised a hand himself - he wasn't sure how to do it properly and just used his right - and mimicked the boy's pose. Then he lowered his hand and held it out, trying if the child would understand a handshake.

It was odd, communicating with a person like this. But, strangely, in a good way.

[America]

The boy was immensely relieved. He was getting an affirmative reaction after all! Did this mean he'd made friends? It would be amazing if he had! Maybe he'd play with him after all! Now, he was positively beaming. Even he wasn't all too sure what he was doing when he propped himself up on his knees and reached out with both hands to take hold of the friendly stranger's extended one. He clutched it, bubbling with light laughter.

When he was finished, he plopped back down into a sitting position. He could only watch, now bright eyed, as the man toyed with twigs and the like, snapping them into smaller pieces and splaying them out before him. He was immensely curious as to what he was going to end up doing with them. Maybe this was one of his games? Perhaps he'd make pictures with them? He'd never thought to make pictures with them in this way before. He had only trailed them along soil to do so.

Leaning forward to get a better view, he set into a slight bounce, eager to experience whatever his actions might be, game or not. Or, maybe he was expected to do something as well?

Musing this over, he reached to his side, seeking out a twig of his own. Once he got a grip on what appeared to be a sturdy one, he looked straight ahead, spying a patch of dirt close enough for him to doodle in. He drew out nonsensical patterns of lines caught between zigzags and straight lines.

What he was hoping to accomplish, he didn't really know, but maybe this would encourage something on the stranger's part.

[the Netherlands]

He still found it incredibly difficult to communicate with the child. He'd never stumbled upon someone before who, well, couldn't talk. Even if the other was speaking a different language, it was a lot easier to talk with then with someone who wasn't using any vocal language at all. This was Ice Age all over again. The Dutchman still couldn't shake off the feeling that this kid was someone special, someone like them. Yet it seemed so uncivilised. Friendly for sure but so uneducated. This world was in a state of a golden age, discoveries everywhere and humanity advancing with big steps forward. And this boy, this child couldn't even.. talk. Sure, it seemed eager to learn and oh, he would've liked to teach him to speak the languages, but truth was, he was never that good of a teacher. His lessons, even if they were good, had never been a huge success. He practically gave up playing wise man and started playing the business man.

He glanced at the child, who was bending over his creation of twigs. It was obvious that this sign language was new to him. He sighed a little, carefully picked up the twigs and threw them away, into the water. Willem needed to find out what this boy knew about the world and its existence, and he needed to found out what he was capable of. It was curious enough to seek him out, so it was clear to him that he wanted to know more about new things. That was a good sign. It meant the child wanted to learn.

He wondered if the boy had a name.

The European must've been spaced out for a little, because the boy had taken initiative and picked up a twig of his own. There were no shapes, just random lines, sometimes straight, sometimes zigzagged. Had he never tried to draw something from this world? Not even a cloud, or a sky, a sun? A bird, a tree? Picking up another nearby twig, he seeked out some dirt as well and drew a very simplified flower. Here was hoping the boy would recognise it. If he didn't..they had a long way to go.

[America]

The boy peered up to watch the man, watching to see what he would do. It wasn't like he was positive he'd be gaining a reaction from his nonsensical scribbles, but he could hope. He wasn't sure where else this could go otherwise, unless the stranger showed him a game of his that the two could play. That could very well have been the purpose of the twigs, but in the end, he really was just going off of assumptions left and right. It wasn't like there was anything else he could do for the moment, anyway.

His eyes widened, seeing the picture he was sketching out on the dirt for him. He recognized what it was immediately. It looked something akin to the flowers he'd spy during his travels. Obviously, it didn't look exactly like them, being simplified, but luckily, similar enough for him to know what it was.

Smiling once more, he raised his twig yet again, opting to imitate him. Perhaps this was some kind of game? At the very least, it seemed fun. This time, he was much more careful in his strokes, attempting a picture of sorts. Next to his flower, he drew what he hoped the other would figure was a tree. He took care to make it a lot bigger than his picture, because they really were bigger. He sometimes dreamed of climbing them, even though he knew it would be impossible for him.

Maybe someday it wouldn't. Maybe someday he'd be as big as the friendly stranger keeping him company. It seemed sort of ridiculous, but it was fun for him to imagine. If he were bigger, he might also be able to communicate better. Maybe that went along with getting bigger?

Now, he waited again, holding his feet. If this was a game, that meant that it was the stranger's turn.

[the Netherlands]

The Dutchman watched closely, seeing if there was any reaction after having doodled his flower. There was; the boy obviously recognised it by his eyes and his enthusiasm, as he smiled yet again and raising his hand, debating if he should draw something or not. Although he wasn't of the emotional type, he was a good observer and had learnt how to interpret people's emotions and reactions, which brought him usually the victory in icky situations. The little boy must've recognised his drawing and was now trying to decide if he should continue their game. He chose to do another round. This time, the lines in the mud were less impulsive and drawn with more thought.

A tree. And as if he was afraid that the Republic wouldn't be able to recognise what it was, he had drawn it a lot larger than his flower, to show him that the tree was much bigger than the tiny little flora. Although the boy couldn't talk and was barely able to communicate, he suddenly realised he was smart. He had no idea how old he was - even if it was a human, which he doubted - because he was very bad in age guessing, but understanding the principle of scale, how trees were usually larger than flowers wasn't common for his age, was it? Willem was no expert on child brain development, far from it, but it was still remarkable.

He wondered if he should teach the boy some words.

But, in which language? He could be selfish and learn him his own language, that from the Dutch people, but frankly the boy wouldn't have much profit by learning Dutch. Compared to the world - which was a lot bigger than he'd initially thought - there was only a small group of people who were able to understand Dutch. The majority however spoke English. And even though he didn't like England very much at the moment, it would be silly of him to refrain himself from teaching the boy a common language because of some little personal issues.

He picked up his twig and pointed towards the boy's drawing. He made eye contact with him, to be sure that the boy was listening. "Tree," he said, slowly and clearly, trying to pronounce it as English as possible. His accent was far less heavy than a few decades before, but you still could clearly hear that the Dutch Republic wasn't a native speaker of the English language. He hoped the boy would imitate him again. If he would, well.. then he knew he was doing a step into the right direction with this young thing.

[America]

The child watched with growing curiosity as the man plucked his twig up once more, excited to see what he would doodle next. He was already wondering what he himself should scribble down come his next turn. Much to the contrary, the other was suddenly poking his drawing tool toward the mediocre tree he'd drawn instead of making one for himelf, catching all of the blond's attention and then some. He looked up to him, noticing he had been looking at him as well.

"Tree."

His eyes widened once more, and then it clicked.

Did he.. want him to try repeating after him? Was this stranger trying to teach him how to speak? Was it just a part of the game they were playing, or maybe another game altogether? He fidgeted with his fingers and feet, looking down, feeling wired with this opportunity being presented to him all of the sudden. He'd never tried communicating with words before. It wasn't like he didn't want to, he just never imagined himself doing it. On top of that, he held vast experience in listening to people converse in different tongues, but there was no one who ever sat down to show him how.

But here this amiable person was, offering him all kinds of patience, even trying to help him learn. He didn't quite understand why, how, who he was or where he came from, but the fact that this was happening was more than enough for him. Despite the fact that he was uneasy and unconfident of his ability, he found he was eager to at least try.

He might as well.

“T—” He finally began after a long stretch of silence, very softly, going quiet for another long while before trying again. “T-Tsh-sh—”

The boy frowned, all the more self conscious now that he screwed up. He'd only very well caught the first of his mouth movements. Maybe he'd be kind enough to repeat it for him a second time? Hoping he'd understand, he initiated the eye contact once more, keeping his mouth closed for the moment.