2024-06-14 - [ 2-1 ] ab imo pectore

Whether it is sent directly to the little dreamer or just words overheard in passing, its mother’s mind voice becomes a source of great interest and joy. It prompts Sunbeam to become, surely, one of the most attuned listeners.

Every single pearl of Gwillenth’s sendings prompts a cascade of echoes, replete with ample flourishes and embellishments. Sunbeam attempts to mimic the soft, golden notes: sometimes small and delicate, sometimes enormous and unmodulated enough to drown out Gwillenth completely. In its own sphere of existence, Sunbeam is awash in the tempestuous glee of its own colorful energies.

These energies are shimmering flashes that dart and sparkle like so many little fish; they are columns and sprays of bubbles that swirl and churn before popping, dazzling, positively effervescent. They are slashes on the fabric of its tiny universe, a stunning array of colors as quickly as it can imagine them.

In truth, Sunbeam’s mimicry reflects the good nature of its mother’s sendings, a dazzling display of psychic colors and lights all to itself. It is longer still, but Sunbeam eventually finds great pleasure in parroting the words themselves, though this remains only a joyful activity of babbling rather than any sort of depth of conversation—a regular one-dragon chorus: mineMinemineMINEmine, and sometimes eggsEGGSeggs. Once in particular, it learned a sound which its mother seemed to ascribe special importance to: Pertemarth! which it accentuated with a profusion of enthusiastic flourishes and swirls befitting this important word, this highly regarded word, this reverent word, this affectionately crafted word. Somehow, Sunbeam knew it was important, even if it didn’t understand why yet.