The child's ears moved — not un-flattening fully, but shifting, the small involuntary movement of someone whose instincts were processing new information against established fear.
Morgana crouched beside Satou, and something in her presence — the specific quality she projected when she chose to project it, the thousand-year-old vampire who had raised a demon lord from childhood and understood instinctively how to be non-threatening to something small and frightened — seemed to reach the child before any words did.
The child made a sound.
It wasn't language — not in any form Satou recognized. It was something between a word and a tone, carrying inflection that suggested specific meaning but in a register that his translation ability didn't immediately process.
"Morgana," he said quietly.
"I'm working on it," she said. "The language has magic embedded in it. Give me a moment."
