| J wasn’t actually his real name, either; Aislin could only remember that it started with the letter J. But she hadn’t been able to pronounce that name properly, so uncle J had worked just fine, and she'd forgotten his full name. Uncle J called himself a sira, and though she didn’t know the meaning of that word either, took it to mean his kind of people. Like she was a human, and the animals in the water were fish.
“And what have you got there?” uncle J asked, peering at the purple stains on her skirt and hands.
“They’re qintasa!” she said, using his name for them, rather than what her mother called them “I picked ‘em ‘specially for you!” Aislin beamed, opening the skirt-basket and showing him her collection. A few were squished and leaking purple juice, but most were still whole, and uncle J purred delightfully.
“Why visslii, what a sweet thing to do for your old uncle J.” he smiled down on her and ruffled her short-cropped hair affectionately with a forepaw. “Shall we go inside and eat, or have you already?”
Aise shook her head. “Nope! I haven’t had breakfast yet!” But even if she had, she’d be tempted to lie just to taste some of uncle J’s miraculous cooking. But that was a big risk, because he didn’t like it when she lied. He didn’t get angry, or yell at her, or even call her a liar. No, he just got this disappointed look on his face and was quiet for a while, until she told the truth.
The sira laughed “Alright then, lets go get you something to eat.” He led the way inside, one wing wrapped around her shoulders “Did you want to go out on the lake today?” His voice carried a smile, and she knew he was only asking to be polite; she always wanted to go out on the lake with him.
“Yup! But breakfast first, right?” she really was hungry.
Uncle J laughed “Of course, silly visslii.” He said, snugging her shoulder with his wing, then leading the way inside for breakfast.
After a breakfast of a little fried fish, strawberries (she never could figure out why they were called strawberries, since they neither came from straw nor looked or tasted like it. She would’ve called them pinkberries, or seedberries) and a slice of ripe, orange melon, uncle J cleared the table and scraped the leavings into a heap outside his window, right onto the compost pile. Ailsin’s mother did that too, but her garden never did as well as uncle J’s.
“Shall we go ready the craft then?” he asked, pretending to be a formal ship’s captain like her father.
Aise giggled and returned in kind, saluting and shouting “Aye!”
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