Once again, I'm drawing from Tiamat's Nest. Here, Charles and his young grandson have just narrowly avoided death by snow plow.
Charles watched Benedict happily sketching at the dining table. Several sheets of paper were already covered with bright drawings of yellow machines with large teeth.
"He doesn't seem too bothered by it," Charles whispered to Sylvie. He nursed his third beer. That, and two large brandies, were finally starting to calm the trembling in his limbs.
"It was all just a big load of excitement to him," Sylvie murmured. "He hasn't made any connection to what might have happened. He's got no concept of mortality."