"Bogland," says Toriel, "by Seamus Heaney."

Gaster leans against her side, wrapped in a blanket. They close their eyes as she begins to read.

" We have no prairies
To slice a big sun at evening–
Everywhere the eye concedes to
Encrouching horizon… "

Her words flow, soft and gentle. They don't understand everything that's said. So many words are abstractions, mere denotations without any connotation attached. Some words lack even that. They don't mind. Her voice is nice, and besides, trying to piece together the words they do not recognize makes for a nice puzzle, even if they will never be able to grasp the whole picture.

For a time, their whole world is confined to her voice and the fragmentary picture she paints, until at last the poem comes to a close with one final line.

"The wet centre is bottomless."

Toriel shuts the book. "I believe that is enough for one evening."

Gaster sits up and signs, "Beautiful," but then their mouth twists and they add, "I am confused." Their signs are simple. They are still learning.

"You want to know what it means?" she asks, and they nod. "Do you know what a bog is?"

They wave their hand in a so-so motion.

BOG: n. a swamp. SWAMP: n. an area of low-lying, uncultivated ground where water collects

"As best I can tell, he comes from a place where there are many bogs, and he is writing about the many things that have been found there."

They give her an annoyed look–even with their comprehension difficulties, they figured out that much–and she laughs. "Alright, so perhaps I don't understand it all that well myself." She looks down at the book, running her fingers across the cover. The pages are yellow, and book has been twisted into waves with ancient water damage.

Gaster taps her knee, and she looks back up at them. "Sign H-U-M-A-N?" She obliges, showing them the sign for human, then they ask their real question, "Why read human books?"

Her eyes soften. "Humans have done cruel, awful, horrible things, but that does not mean that they have nothing to teach us. Sometimes, the best lessons come from the most unexpected places. You yourself said it was beautiful."

They shrug, but then smile and look off to the side as they sign, "Because of your voice."

"Gaster!"

Now, it is their turn to laugh, and they let themself fall back onto her shoulder. "One more?"

She sighs and shakes her head. "Alright…" She opens the book again and turns to a random page.

"This one's called 'Blackberry Picking'."