Dolce enjoys a simple day at the beach. It’s a complicated technique.

Step one: Dig a hole.

Step two: Sit in the hole.

Step three: Enjoy the company.

It is a good vacation. Much-needed, for a body recently put back together. Gives the rest of him a chance to do the same.

“Almost.” The birds perched in his wool don’t so much as ruffle a feather as he speaks. This, too, is a complicated technique. For experts only. “The wording is the tricky part, yes? With all the stories of wishes gone wrong, and with all the time we’ve had, there’d be no excuse if we fumbled it here. There’s a few little details I have to iron out too. Prayers to make. Work to double-check. That sort of thing.”

Before them, the sea stretches to the horizon, stretches to meet fluffy clouds lazily drifting across the sky. Gentle waves lap at the shore, keeping silence at bay. 

“Though, there’s a risk of making it too perfect, isn’t there? A temptation? You have the opportunity to ask something of a god, and it may not be hubris, because a god is doing it on your behalf. That’s an awful lot of power. An awful lot of things you could ask for. Things you could set right. It makes it…tricky, to see where the line is.”

Before him, infinite possibilities teem in the depths. Beyond him, the stars, the Skies.

Below him, a pair of kindly eyes and a curious tongue.

“Perhaps that’s why the gods don’t give out wishes very often.”

Dolce smiles with his whole face.

“Aren’t we lucky?”