Sioni always thought that the biggest difference between him and Espa, (Besides the obvious ones) was that he was by nature an optimist, and she was a perpetual pessimist. He was happy… well, alright, he wasn’t at all happy but he could  let Espa hide herself away whenever Kaleb brought him back for a little private celebration after winning a match, and he put up with it. Because he knew, eventually, somehow, things would work themselves out. Esperanza, on the other hand always acted as if unless she kept the world together by dint of will and careful management, it would all completely go to Hell.

And maybe the truth was really somewhere in between. One shouldn’t go courting trouble, like. Don’t tell Kaleb that he was Siarli’s father, for instance. Though he knew it, and Espi knew it, and Mamgu knew it, having seen a blurred photograph of Kaleb and Esparanza and the kids in the Daily Prophet. But you’d have to have a death wish to tell Kaleb. So Sioni avoided awkward moments, and Esperanza avoided everything to do with him.

This was not really what he considered a realistic approach. Like deciding the best way not to lose a Quidditch match was to concede the match and just not play. Sioni wasn’t about to concede anything to Kaleb. Not where Esperanza was concerned.

Besides, she couldn’t hide from him forever.

Especially if he took the time to look.

Today’s meeting was genuinely not planned. But, if fate felt like giving things a little shove, like, Sioni wasn’t going to object.

Of all things it was the voice behind the bushes that attracted his attention.

"And you are Michael, and I am Wendy. You have to sit and listen. Charlie! You have to sit!"

Sioni smiled. He liked kiddies. He liked to see them playing in the parks and out in the country. He especially liked the idea behind this little girl’s game. He’d been Peeta himself, one upon a time.

"Let her be Grace. You and Frank can play by yourselves. You can be Peter and Frank can be Tinkerbell"

That was the voice that stopped him in his tracks. He knew that voice; he dreamed that voice; he lived for that particular voice. Why fight it? He walked along until he got to the break in the shrubbery and came around the corner, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“Thought it must be you,” He said, all casual, like. “Hallo, girls.” He squatted down and smiled at Grace. “You won’t remember me likely, Gracie fach. Been quite a long time since I saw you last. And you must be little Charlotte,” He said, turning to the little yellow bundle sitting on Espa’s lap. “Only not half so little as last time I saw you little one.”

He smiled and took the baby’s hand, almost as if shaking it. “Aren’t you a beauty?” He asked. Slowly raising his eyes to look into Esperanza’s he added, “Just like your mammi. Bert fel blodau gwanwyn.”

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Not Getting Any Younger