ice age heat wave
#13
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Much unlike Legacy, Ari's own thoughts had, very early on, taken on the form of emotions and images rather than words. When he was angry at someone, he did not stream violent sentences through his head, but simply saw visions of red and a torrent of blinding emotion that did more than a string of simple words could. Perhaps this is why Ari had long since chosen to convey his thoughts and ideas in the form of art, rather than speaking or writing. He could convey an image of hundreds to thousands of words in a few strokes of a paintbrush, and that spoke for itself.


He looked at this girl, however, with unbridled curiosity and wonder. You are far too kind, he said humbly, shifting himself, but not uncomfortably. Ari had rarely added color to his other paintings at home, as the only color, understandably, that one could get in the middle of a swamp was a rather dull black-brown. The idea of a new dimension of colors and hues added a new light to his chosen profession, and he regarded it with a small, content smile. Of course, a small tinge of embarrassment crossed it when she continued on about books. He shrugged, keeping his shoulders hunched, and said in a small voice, Books can not help those who can't read what they say. He usually stopped all conversation of reading and books with that before it could get too embarrassing, but he always felt belittled and inferior when he said it. He was nothing more than an illiterate orphan with a brush in hand.
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