My Grandfather Is a Giant Schnauzer

Chapter Six – Adoption “Oh no, it’s almost lunchtime, and we still haven’t really had breakfast!

Just quick snacks — fruit, cookies, chocolate,” exclaimed Arina, suddenly remembering.

Louise shot her a dry glance over the rim of her glasses, as if to say: leaving a child in the care of such a "thoughtful assistant" was risky business.

I hadn’t even noticed how I gulped down an apple that morning, clinging to my thoughts of sketching — so eager was I to help Arina.

At that moment, Ded gave a loud snort, as if to confirm the accusation, and began scratching his ear with his hind leg in a way that clearly said: “I may just be a dog, but I understand everything.” “All right,” Louise said with a smile.

“You two go have breakfast… or rather, lunch.

And I’ll go figure out the procedure for temporary adoption.” She leaned down to speak to me at eye level.

“Toma, if you’re willing to let me handle your affairs, then you must trust me with something even more important.

I’ll become your official guardian.

No objections?” I shook my head energetically.

Inside, something unfolded — like a sail catching the wind.

Ded gave a pleased little huff, then, remembering his "role," went back to scratching his ear.

As we approached the makeshift kitchen set up hastily at the edge of the beach, we heard a rumbling voice.

Thierry Roche, the ship’s cook and the camp’s guardian of appetites, stood by a large pot from which wafted the smells of spices, fish, and rice.

His apron was worn and stained in places — the mark of someone who worked hard and didn’t fuss over appearances.

Beside him, neatly rolled up on the table, was a knife roll — practical and sharp, just as a proper cook should keep it.

“You can’t feed a growing boy crumbs and chocolate!” Thierry grumbled, lifting the pot’s lid and giving Louise a stern look.

“Real food first — sweets later!” Under a light canvas awning stood a long table made from bleached boards.

The aromas of stewed fish with herbs, seasoned rice, and roasted fruits stirred my appetite, making my stomach rumble traitorously.

Ded quietly settled under the table, stretching out his paws just enough to bump my leg if the food was unfairly distributed.

Next to me, Arina, head bent, was already sketching quickly in her notebook — boats, sandy alleys, the wrinkled faces of fishermen — capturing every detail of our island.

Thierry watched over me like a seasoned boatswain overseeing a new recruit in the galley.

“Now that’s a proper meal,” he declared with satisfaction as I wiped my plate clean with a piece of bread.

He set a bowl of fresh fruit slices in front of me, and then, without a word, slipped another, smaller bowl under the table — filled generously with fish and rice for Ded.

Ded lifted his head, gazed up at him respectfully, and began eating with the dignity of a well-mannered dog.

Thierry gave us both an approving nod, smoothed his apron, and muttered: “From each according to his needs.” Louise chuckled softly: “Look at you — turning into a little communist?” Arina giggled behind her sketchbook.

Thierry just waved his hand dismissively: “Spent a few summers at Artek camp when I was a kid.

Justice runs deep.” And with that, he returned to his pot.

When I finished eating, Louise quietly motioned for me to come aside.

“We’re flying to Nassau today,” she said, crouching down beside me.

Her eyes were serious, but a smile flickered at their corners.

“Everything’s arranged.

We just need to pack and be ready.” I nodded.

Somewhere deep inside, an invisible string trembled at her words.

Until now, everything around me had felt like a dream.

Suddenly, the world became very real.

Ded nudged my hand with his nose, as if to say: "Don’t worry.

We’re in this together."

When the others heard about the trip, we quickly gathered companions.

Elen and Maren asked to join, and with permission granted, Maren hurried off to prepare.

He approached Ded, gave him a critical look, and said: “He’ll need a collar.

They won’t let a dog into the hotels otherwise.” Bruno Clément, standing nearby, frowned.

“They might not allow you inside.

Maybe better to leave the dog with me here on the island?” Something twisted painfully inside me.

I pulled Ded closer, feeling his warm fur against my skin.

Ded stayed silent, but his gaze said everything.

Maren noticed and thought for a moment.

Then he snapped his fingers brightly: “No way.

He’s coming with us.

We’ll make a collar ourselves!

I have a spare belt in my backpack.” He unbuckled his woven leather belt, studied it like a craftsman, and added: “This will make a perfect collar.

And the leftovers — we’ll braid into a leash.” Activity burst into life by the camp kitchen.

Someone fetched a knife, someone else a sturdy carabiner from old gear.

Someone found a broken fishing rod ring — perfect for securing the carabiner to the leash.

Maren, face focused, carefully cut the belt, deftly unraveling strips and weaving them into a tight braid.

People bustled around, offering advice, cracking jokes — like a real ship’s crew before a voyage.

Ded lay absolutely still, patient and dignified.

He understood perfectly: this was for him.

An hour later, the collar and leash were ready.

Captain Branc himself tested their strength, pulling hard in both directions.

“Solid,” he said with a nod, clapping Maren on the shoulder.

“A true sea dog,” Maren said proudly, fastening the leash.

Ded barked once, short and approving, as if to say: Now I’m a real wolf!

When the preparations were complete, Jean-Luc Forger was already inspecting the seaplane — an old De Havilland Beaver, a true classic of tropical air routes.

His sunglasses caught flashes of sunlight as he hummed a lively tune under his breath, short and stocky like a cheerful old sailor.

"Bienvenue à bord, young sailors!"

he shouted, waving to us from the pontoon.

He must have been nearing fifty, while Louise was only thirty-eight.

Maybe that's why he felt free to call all of us "young."

Louise made a joke about it, and I smiled.

We took our seats.

Jean-Luc at the controls, Arina with her sketchbook beside him.

I sat directly behind the pilot, by the window on the left.

Louise sat next to me.

Behind us, Maren and Elen squeezed into the back row.

Ded sprawled out across the floor, neatly tucking his muzzle under my sneakers.

When everyone was settled, the engine roared to life.

The seaplane slowly backed away from the shore, lazily slicing the water, then turned sharply, gaining speed across the waves — and with a sudden, smooth lift, we were airborne.

I was pressed into my seat, my heart dropping somewhere into my shoes.

The noise was so overwhelming that Jean-Luc shouted something over his shoulder, but his words drowned in the roar of the engines.

We could only guess by his gestures.

Below us, the ocean opened wide — an endless shimmering blue.

Far away, silver patches sparkled — shoals of fish churning the surface.

I sat silently, drinking in every curve of the waves, every glint of sunlight on the water.

At first, the sea below was clear and bright, but the farther we flew, the darker the surface became.

Then, patches of sargassum appeared — thick golden weeds floating like sleepy continents.

And behind them came dirty green and brown stains.

At first, I thought: jellyfish?

But no — looking closer, I realized: these were islands of garbage.

Plastic bags, torn nets, rusted barrels — drifting, poisoning the sea.

I gripped the seatbelt tighter.

Somewhere down there, the ocean was dying.

And it was us — humans — killing it.

Arina, sitting ahead, flipped open her notebook and started sketching again — even here, even through the noise and shaking.

Louise quietly placed her hand on my shoulder.

Across the aisle, Elen leaned toward Maren, whispering something into his ear.

He blushed furiously and mumbled back.

They didn’t care about the view outside the window — they were wrapped up in their own world.

I noticed it and smiled to myself.

After about two hours of flying, a huge city rose on the horizon.

At first it looked like a scattering of golden beads gleaming against the blue.

Then houses with brightly painted roofs came into focus, and white piers, and tiny ships clustered by the docks.

The seaplane touched the water with a soft, gliding thump — like a giant seabird.

We skimmed toward the dock, and the engines fell silent, leaving only the soft slosh of waves and the distant murmur of the city.

Evening Nassau greeted us with a hot, humid wind scented with mango, salt, and fried bananas.

On the waterfront, strings of lights blinked between the buildings.

Somewhere down the alleys, reggae music bounced through the air.

The smells of spicy food, exhaust, and blooming flowers mingled around us.

I walked behind Louise, holding Ded's leash.

He marched proudly by my side, like a sailor on shore leave.

Ahead of us, Maren and Elen laughed together.

Elen shoved a cup of fruit ice into Maren's hand, and he, flustered, nearly dropped it.

He turned bright red and muttered something, while Elen just giggled and wiped his sticky fingers with a napkin.

Louise kept offering me sweets from street vendors, but I politely refused.

I wasn’t hungry — I was busy drinking in every piece of this new world with my eyes.

The lights from the lanterns shimmered in puddles along the cobbled streets.

Old men smoked pipes outside shop doors.

Children chased scraps of plastic bottles, kicking them like footballs.

The city was noisy, dazzling, and completely unlike anything I had ever known.

It was a living fairy tale — the kind Ded used to tell me, and now, here I was inside it.

In the morning, after a hearty breakfast, we headed to the consulate.

Jean-Luc was already waiting for us by the entrance — he had arranged for a car so we could quickly take care of everything.

Far from his beloved plane, he looked a little lost and kept glancing at the sky.

The consulate building, white with a proud French coat of arms, looked strict and a little sleepy.

Louise filled out the documents meticulously.

I was asked to press my finger onto a sheet of paper and then stand still while they took a photo.

— Welcome aboard, little prince, — the consul said with a warm smile.

We left the consulate right after, making our way back toward our seaplane.

As we drove through the streets of Nassau, I pressed my forehead against the car window and soaked everything in with hungry eyes.

In the morning light, Nassau was even brighter, bustling with life.

Vendors were laying out baskets of fruit along the sidewalks, women in colorful dresses laughed and called out to each other, children raced around with homemade toys, weaving between stalls.

The city seemed even more magical now — busy, alive, full of unknown stories.

The flight back was nothing like the first one.

When we lifted off the water, the roar of the engines no longer seemed so frightening — it even felt a little softer, like an old song that no longer scared me.

I sat by the window, watching the endless ocean unfold below in all its shades of blue and green.

It felt as though the tension that had built up inside me over these past days was slowly melting away.

— Louise, — I asked, — why did the consul call me the Little Prince?

She smiled and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.

— I think he remembered a beautiful story when he saw you and your Ded — she said softly.

— The heart of that story is simple: We are responsible for those we have tamed.

— Oh!

— I leaned closer.

— Could you tell me that story?

I haven't heard any tales for so long.

Louise nodded, and for a moment, her smile trembled — two tears rolled down her cheeks.

— These are good tears, — she said, wiping them away.

— And yes, I’ll tell you.

But first... do you know how to play games?

Want me to teach you one I loved when I was your age?

I nodded eagerly.

So Louise taught me a game called Qui perd, gagne — "He who loses, wins."

If you made a mistake, you had to invent a funny challenge for the others.

It wasn't about being right — it was about making everyone laugh.

We played and laughed until our stomachs hurt.

Sometimes Maren and Hélène joined in too — though most of the time, they were too busy being secretly in love, holding hands and thinking no one noticed.

But I did notice, and smiled quietly to myself.

In the cockpit, Arina kept sketching endlessly, her pages flipping in the breeze.

Through the window, I watched the ocean change again — the blue growing lighter, the waters sparkling as we neared home.

When we finally touched down near the island, I could see familiar faces waving from the shore.

Cécile Angers, Captain Branc, Jean-Marc Lecroix — all waiting for us.

I stepped onto the sand and felt the ground cling to my soles, as if the island itself, once touched by loss, was afraid to let me go again.

At the camp, we were welcomed with laughter and the delicious smells of dinner.

Thierry Roche, armed with his ladle like a knight with a sword, had prepared a real feast: stewed fish, rice cooked with spices, roasted fruits that smelled of honey and salt.

I ate in silence, savoring every bite.

It felt as if everything churning inside me these past days was slowly settling — like the sea calming after a storm.

Ded also got his share — a generous portion placed right under the table — and he ate with all the dignity of a seasoned sailor back from a long voyage.

After dinner, Louise came up to me, smiling: — Well then, my little prince, it's time to begin your lessons.

We sat on the warm sand under a canopy of stars.

Louise picked up a thin stick and started drawing letters carefully: Toma Makea I traced the letters after her, slowly, carefully, my tongue sticking out in concentration.

Then she showed me a few simple French words: "ami" — friend, "chien" — dog, "mer" — sea.

Ded dozed next to us, his leash neatly coiled by his side.

The sound of the ocean was like a deep, steady breath all around us.

When it grew darker, Louise stood and held out her hand: — Come, little prince, I promised you a story.

We went to my small tent.

Louise sat on the mat; I lay down on top of my sleeping bag, with Ded curling up right by the entrance, as if keeping guard.

Louise began to tell the story — quietly, almost whispering.

About the boy who lived on a tiny planet.

About the rose he loved.

About the travelers he met while searching for a way home.

And about the Fox, who taught him the most important thing: "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."

I listened without blinking.

The gentle rustle of the wind against the tent walls blended with her voice, and it felt like the night itself was telling me this story.

When she finished, Louise brushed my hair lightly and said: — I will find that book for you.

I promise.

Without thinking, I sat up and threw my arms around her neck, hugging her tight.

— Thank you, Louise, — I whispered.

She froze for a heartbeat, then hugged me back and kissed me on the cheek.

— Good night, my little prince, — she said.

I lay back down, feeling my eyes close, heavy with happiness and peace.

Outside, the sea whispered and breathed.

And I fell asleep, knowing: My new life was beginning.

And this time, I had someone waiting for me.

As for Ded?

He hadn't gone anywhere.

He had simply become a dog.

And honestly — I think he liked it better this way.

No more aching back, no sore knees, no complaints — just the simple joy of lying on warm sand and listening to the waves.

To be continued...

My Grandfather Is a Giant Schnauzer

Chapter Six – Adoption “Oh no, it’s almost lunchtime, and we still haven’t really had breakfast!

Just quick snacks — fruit, cookies, chocolate,” exclaimed Arina, suddenly remembering.

Louise shot her a dry glance over the rim of her glasses, as if to say: leaving a child in the care of such a "thoughtful assistant" was risky business.

I hadn’t even noticed how I gulped down an apple that morning, clinging to my thoughts of sketching — so eager was I to help Arina.

At that moment, Ded gave a loud snort, as if to confirm the accusation, and began scratching his ear with his hind leg in a way that clearly said: “I may just be a dog, but I understand everything.” “All right,” Louise said with a smile.

“You two go have breakfast… or rather, lunch.

And I’ll go figure out the procedure for temporary adoption.” She leaned down to speak to me at eye level.

“Toma, if you’re willing to let me handle your affairs, then you must trust me with something even more important.

I’ll become your official guardian.

No objections?” I shook my head energetically.

Inside, something unfolded — like a sail catching the wind.

Ded gave a pleased little huff, then, remembering his "role," went back to scratching his ear.

As we approached the makeshift kitchen set up hastily at the edge of the beach, we heard a rumbling voice.

Thierry Roche, the ship’s cook and the camp’s guardian of appetites, stood by a large pot from which wafted the smells of spices, fish, and rice.

His apron was worn and stained in places — the mark of someone who worked hard and didn’t fuss over appearances.

Beside him, neatly rolled up on the table, was a knife roll — practical and sharp, just as a proper cook should keep it.

“You can’t feed a growing boy crumbs and chocolate!” Thierry grumbled, lifting the pot’s lid and giving Louise a stern look.

The aromas of stewed fish with herbs, seasoned rice, and roasted fruits stirred my appetite, making my stomach rumble traitorously.

Ded quietly settled under the table, stretching out his paws just enough to bump my leg if the food was unfairly distributed.

Next to me, Arina, head bent, was already sketching quickly in her notebook — boats, sandy alleys, the wrinkled faces of fishermen — capturing every detail of our island.

Thierry watched over me like a seasoned boatswain overseeing a new recruit in the galley.

“Now that’s a proper meal,” he declared with satisfaction as I wiped my plate clean with a piece of bread.

He set a bowl of fresh fruit slices in front of me, and then, without a word, slipped another, smaller bowl under the table — filled generously with fish and rice for Ded.

Ded lifted his head, gazed up at him respectfully, and began eating with the dignity of a well-mannered dog.

Thierry gave us both an approving nod, smoothed his apron, and muttered: “From each according to his needs.” Louise chuckled softly: “Look at you — turning into a little communist?” Arina giggled behind her sketchbook.

Thierry just waved his hand dismissively: “Spent a few summers at Artek camp when I was a kid.

Justice runs deep.” And with that, he returned to his pot.

When I finished eating, Louise quietly motioned for me to come aside.

“We’re flying to Nassau today,” she said, crouching down beside me.

Her eyes were serious, but a smile flickered at their corners.

“Everything’s arranged.

We just need to pack and be ready.” I nodded.

Somewhere deep inside, an invisible string trembled at her words.

Until now, everything around me had felt like a dream.

Ded nudged my hand with his nose, as if to say: "Don’t worry.

We’re in this together."

When the others heard about the trip, we quickly gathered companions.

Elen and Maren asked to join, and with permission granted, Maren hurried off to prepare.

He approached Ded, gave him a critical look, and said: “He’ll need a collar.

They won’t let a dog into the hotels otherwise.” Bruno Clément, standing nearby, frowned.

“They might not allow you inside.

Maybe better to leave the dog with me here on the island?” Something twisted painfully inside me.

I pulled Ded closer, feeling his warm fur against my skin.

Ded stayed silent, but his gaze said everything.

Maren noticed and thought for a moment.

Then he snapped his fingers brightly: “No way.

He’s coming with us.

We’ll make a collar ourselves!

I have a spare belt in my backpack.” He unbuckled his woven leather belt, studied it like a craftsman, and added: “This will make a perfect collar.

And the leftovers — we’ll braid into a leash.” Activity burst into life by the camp kitchen.

Someone fetched a knife, someone else a sturdy carabiner from old gear.

Someone found a broken fishing rod ring — perfect for securing the carabiner to the leash.

Maren, face focused, carefully cut the belt, deftly unraveling strips and weaving them into a tight braid.

People bustled around, offering advice, cracking jokes — like a real ship’s crew before a voyage.

Ded lay absolutely still, patient and dignified.

He understood perfectly: this was for him.

An hour later, the collar and leash were ready.

Captain Branc himself tested their strength, pulling hard in both directions.

“Solid,” he said with a nod, clapping Maren on the shoulder.

“A true sea dog,” Maren said proudly, fastening the leash.

Ded barked once, short and approving, as if to say: Now I’m a real wolf!

When the preparations were complete, Jean-Luc Forger was already inspecting the seaplane — an old De Havilland Beaver, a true classic of tropical air routes.

His sunglasses caught flashes of sunlight as he hummed a lively tune under his breath, short and stocky like a cheerful old sailor.

"Bienvenue à bord, young sailors!"

he shouted, waving to us from the pontoon.

He must have been nearing fifty, while Louise was only thirty-eight.

Maybe that's why he felt free to call all of us "young."

Louise made a joke about it, and I smiled.

We took our seats.

Jean-Luc at the controls, Arina with her sketchbook beside him.

I sat directly behind the pilot, by the window on the left.

Louise sat next to me.

Behind us, Maren and Elen squeezed into the back row.

Ded sprawled out across the floor, neatly tucking his muzzle under my sneakers.

When everyone was settled, the engine roared to life.

The seaplane slowly backed away from the shore, lazily slicing the water, then turned sharply, gaining speed across the waves — and with a sudden, smooth lift, we were airborne.

I was pressed into my seat, my heart dropping somewhere into my shoes.

The noise was so overwhelming that Jean-Luc shouted something over his shoulder, but his words drowned in the roar of the engines.

We could only guess by his gestures.

Below us, the ocean opened wide — an endless shimmering blue.

Far away, silver patches sparkled — shoals of fish churning the surface.

I sat silently, drinking in every curve of the waves, every glint of sunlight on the water.

At first, the sea below was clear and bright, but the farther we flew, the darker the surface became.

Then, patches of sargassum appeared — thick golden weeds floating like sleepy continents.

And behind them came dirty green and brown stains.

At first, I thought: jellyfish?

But no — looking closer, I realized: these were islands of garbage.

Plastic bags, torn nets, rusted barrels — drifting, poisoning the sea.

I gripped the seatbelt tighter.

Somewhere down there, the ocean was dying.

And it was us — humans — killing it.

Arina, sitting ahead, flipped open her notebook and started sketching again — even here, even through the noise and shaking.

Louise quietly placed her hand on my shoulder.

Across the aisle, Elen leaned toward Maren, whispering something into his ear.

He blushed furiously and mumbled back.

They didn’t care about the view outside the window — they were wrapped up in their own world.

I noticed it and smiled to myself.

After about two hours of flying, a huge city rose on the horizon.

At first it looked like a scattering of golden beads gleaming against the blue.

Then houses with brightly painted roofs came into focus, and white piers, and tiny ships clustered by the docks.

The seaplane touched the water with a soft, gliding thump — like a giant seabird.

We skimmed toward the dock, and the engines fell silent, leaving only the soft slosh of waves and the distant murmur of the city.

Evening Nassau greeted us with a hot, humid wind scented with mango, salt, and fried bananas.

On the waterfront, strings of lights blinked between the buildings.

Somewhere down the alleys, reggae music bounced through the air.

The smells of spicy food, exhaust, and blooming flowers mingled around us.

I walked behind Louise, holding Ded's leash.

He marched proudly by my side, like a sailor on shore leave.

Ahead of us, Maren and Elen laughed together.

Elen shoved a cup of fruit ice into Maren's hand, and he, flustered, nearly dropped it.

He turned bright red and muttered something, while Elen just giggled and wiped his sticky fingers with a napkin.

Louise kept offering me sweets from street vendors, but I politely refused.

I wasn’t hungry — I was busy drinking in every piece of this new world with my eyes.

The lights from the lanterns shimmered in puddles along the cobbled streets.

Old men smoked pipes outside shop doors.

Children chased scraps of plastic bottles, kicking them like footballs.

The city was noisy, dazzling, and completely unlike anything I had ever known.

It was a living fairy tale — the kind Ded used to tell me, and now, here I was inside it.

In the morning, after a hearty breakfast, we headed to the consulate.

Jean-Luc was already waiting for us by the entrance — he had arranged for a car so we could quickly take care of everything.

Far from his beloved plane, he looked a little lost and kept glancing at the sky.

The consulate building, white with a proud French coat of arms, looked strict and a little sleepy.

Louise filled out the documents meticulously.

I was asked to press my finger onto a sheet of paper and then stand still while they took a photo.

— Welcome aboard, little prince, — the consul said with a warm smile.

We left the consulate right after, making our way back toward our seaplane.

As we drove through the streets of Nassau, I pressed my forehead against the car window and soaked everything in with hungry eyes.

In the morning light, Nassau was even brighter, bustling with life.

Vendors were laying out baskets of fruit along the sidewalks, women in colorful dresses laughed and called out to each other, children raced around with homemade toys, weaving between stalls.

The city seemed even more magical now — busy, alive, full of unknown stories.

The flight back was nothing like the first one.

When we lifted off the water, the roar of the engines no longer seemed so frightening — it even felt a little softer, like an old song that no longer scared me.

I sat by the window, watching the endless ocean unfold below in all its shades of blue and green.

It felt as though the tension that had built up inside me over these past days was slowly melting away.

— Louise, — I asked, — why did the consul call me the Little Prince?

She smiled and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.

— I think he remembered a beautiful story when he saw you and your Ded — she said softly.

— The heart of that story is simple: We are responsible for those we have tamed.

— Oh!

— I leaned closer.

I haven't heard any tales for so long.

Louise nodded, and for a moment, her smile trembled — two tears rolled down her cheeks.

— These are good tears, — she said, wiping them away.

— And yes, I’ll tell you.

But first... do you know how to play games?

Want me to teach you one I loved when I was your age?

So Louise taught me a game called Qui perd, gagne — "He who loses, wins."

If you made a mistake, you had to invent a funny challenge for the others.

It wasn't about being right — it was about making everyone laugh.

We played and laughed until our stomachs hurt.

Sometimes Maren and Hélène joined in too — though most of the time, they were too busy being secretly in love, holding hands and thinking no one noticed.

But I did notice, and smiled quietly to myself.

In the cockpit, Arina kept sketching endlessly, her pages flipping in the breeze.

Through the window, I watched the ocean change again — the blue growing lighter, the waters sparkling as we neared home.

When we finally touched down near the island, I could see familiar faces waving from the shore.

Cécile Angers, Captain Branc, Jean-Marc Lecroix — all waiting for us.

I stepped onto the sand and felt the ground cling to my soles, as if the island itself, once touched by loss, was afraid to let me go again.

At the camp, we were welcomed with laughter and the delicious smells of dinner.

Thierry Roche, armed with his ladle like a knight with a sword, had prepared a real feast: stewed fish, rice cooked with spices, roasted fruits that smelled of honey and salt.

I ate in silence, savoring every bite.

It felt as if everything churning inside me these past days was slowly settling — like the sea calming after a storm.

Ded also got his share — a generous portion placed right under the table — and he ate with all the dignity of a seasoned sailor back from a long voyage.

After dinner, Louise came up to me, smiling: — Well then, my little prince, it's time to begin your lessons.

We sat on the warm sand under a canopy of stars.

Louise picked up a thin stick and started drawing letters carefully: Toma Makea I traced the letters after her, slowly, carefully, my tongue sticking out in concentration.

Then she showed me a few simple French words: "ami" — friend, "chien" — dog, "mer" — sea.

Ded dozed next to us, his leash neatly coiled by his side.

The sound of the ocean was like a deep, steady breath all around us.

When it grew darker, Louise stood and held out her hand: — Come, little prince, I promised you a story.

We went to my small tent.

Louise sat on the mat; I lay down on top of my sleeping bag, with Ded curling up right by the entrance, as if keeping guard.

Louise began to tell the story — quietly, almost whispering.

About the boy who lived on a tiny planet.

About the rose he loved.

About the travelers he met while searching for a way home.

And about the Fox, who taught him the most important thing: "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed."

I listened without blinking.

The gentle rustle of the wind against the tent walls blended with her voice, and it felt like the night itself was telling me this story.

When she finished, Louise brushed my hair lightly and said: — I will find that book for you.

I promise.

Without thinking, I sat up and threw my arms around her neck, hugging her tight.

— Thank you, Louise, — I whispered.

She froze for a heartbeat, then hugged me back and kissed me on the cheek.

— Good night, my little prince, — she said.

I lay back down, feeling my eyes close, heavy with happiness and peace.

Outside, the sea whispered and breathed.

And I fell asleep, knowing: My new life was beginning.

And this time, I had someone waiting for me.

As for Ded?

He hadn't gone anywhere.

He had simply become a dog.

And honestly — I think he liked it better this way.

No more aching back, no sore knees, no complaints — just the simple joy of lying on warm sand and listening to the waves.

To be continued...