The boy places his mug on the ground and then hops back on the stool to take the bowl, balancing it in his lap carefully. "Thank you.

...I can read." He's not sure why he never got a teacher for himself, and probably will never know - it's not something that they discussed with him. Maybe it was just hard to find someone for a house this far away from everywhere, where the onyl child of noble blood would be a bastard. Maybe there hadn't been the money for it. It was not that bad; it gave him a lot of free time, and the teacher would have abandoned him after a short time anyway, he's sure of that.