“Mama, I have a query.”
Not tearing her eyes away from the pot she was stirring, Uhura pointed behind her, and she heard three little steps walk away from her. “How many times have I told you not to come up here while I’m cooking?”
“Samahani, Mama, but I have a query. It is very important.”
Uhura tapped the spoon against the lip of the pot and then set it on a spoon cradle. Then, she turned to look at her son. S’chn T’gai Sorel Uhura regarded his mother with a placid expression, his hands linked before him underneath his tiny belly and his large, brown eyes with ridiculously long eyelashes fluttering upon his dark caramel cheeks. He was wearing his meditation robes, uncaring in the least he practically swam in them, and waited for his mother’s undivided attention.
(
“Yes, my love, how may I help you?” Uhura asked, mimicking her son’s stance. )