I've always assumed children were raised away from the Mirador until they were of an age not to embarrass their parents.

Gideon feels as though he's curled in on himself, sitting on this tiny chair with his legs drawn in, and when Felix shifts nearer, his shoulders hunch. He recalls an insect that rolls itself into a ball in an attempt to protect itself from predators--only he isn't concerned about an outside force preying upon him. Not when he has the temptation to lean into Felix to worry about.

Best, he thinks, to change the subject altogether. As little as he wants to speak of Felix and Ashura's child, Ryuga seems a safer topic than the lands of their shared past. And so, watching Zipporah carefully setting one wooden block atop another, Gideon writes. How has your week with Ryuga been going?