"Vivian come here.' Elena called while running behind a boy around three years old.
He had black hair and blue eyes.
He was running away from his mother.
She held a small bowl and a spoon with food in it.
There was food on Vivian's mouth too.
"I'n nat eating it. Not taste," Vivian said.
His voice was wobbly. He was only three, and words were still hard for him.
"No, you have to eat, son, or you won't grow up strong," she said, still following him.
Vivian ran a little more, his small feet tapping on the ground.
"Naw, I'm naf eating thish," he said. He frowned and looked back.
The moment he looked at his mother, strong arms caught him and lifted him into the air.
"Caught you," his father's voice rang out.
He grabbed Vivian and pulled him close, rubbing his face against Vivian's cheeks.
His face was not clean.
He had not shaved, and his rough beard poked Vivian's soft skin.
Vivian squirmed and laughed at the same time.
