The days slipped by like the pages of a favorite book.
Artur had fallen into a steady rhythm—early mornings with chalk dust on his sleeves and lesson plans tucked under his arm, evenings bent over his desk, correcting assignments with one headphone in and a pen tapping against his lip.
He didn't say much about the long days at school, but his tired eyes softened the moment he saw Billy waiting at home.
Mr. Dand, meanwhile, was hardly ever still. He spent hours out in the village square, his voice mingling with the laughter of the elders, discussing lantern placements, booth arrangements, and the final rehearsal for the festival play.
Every time he came home, his pockets were full of ribbons or scraps of paper with scribbled notes from Old Harris.
Billy's world moved quietly between theirs.
