[CW for implied child abuse.]

When Tobias looked to Mable, so did Edmund. Something was on the tip of his tongue, but the girl was faster.

“Y’know, I have tried to teach him! But it’s difficult to learn when - when you don’t have pencils or paper because they keep getting blown away in the wind, or lost in the grass, or damaged by the weather! Or they’re isn’t any light because we’re working during the day, because our dad is - sick, and mean, and I imagine it’s hard to read with a black eye -“

“That’s enough,” Edmund snapped, his own volume surprising him. He let go of his sisters hand and rubbed his forehead, hiding from Tobias’ gaze. A moment, and then a shaky exhale.

“I’ll learn,” he said. “Does it matter how?”