andrielisilien

It had been only hours since Marco Polo, his father, and his uncle had returned, and little Italy was eager to hear about what they'd seen. What they'd heard. What they'd tasted. The little one was so excited in fact, that he could not sleep, he could barely shut his eyes. The little tyke twisted and turned in his bed, wiggling like a worm. He so badly wanted to just go to him and ask, but then the memory of his instructions not to wake him up came down on them like a hammer. His mind swirled with the strange things formed in the drowsy words they uttered about their findings. "stars from the earth..." "eating with sticks..." "a spoon tha