the first flower after the flood.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 05-05-2010, 07:03 AM

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Word Count :: 545 START PLOT NAOW. -itchy for thread!!!- <3 Red Vine Hollow. :3 Also flaghaghaugh ramble. :| Sorry.

The tawny-furred youth was on a mission today. His dark-furred ears twitched this way and that as he walked, always rotating around to pick up the sounds of the world. His chocolate-hued muzzle often tilted into the breeze, still trying to figure out this thing that was the wide world. He didn't quite have a grasp on even his own packlands yet, though he was certainly old enough—he was an adult rank, after all. Even so, the creamy-colored man had difficulty with tasks that should have been instinctual. He still struggled with learning the packlands, though by now he was quite familiar with how to get to Dahlia de Mai. That didn't matter right now, though—someone had told them there were books in the packlands.

Harlowe needed to seek those things out, of course. It was important that he read everything he could get his hands on. He had been pretty much buried in books since Naniko had taught him to read; perhaps that was partially why he had not really grown out of his shell yet. He had neglected reality for the knowledge and fantasy that existed in books—for it was true, he didn't only enjoy his dictionary. He had a love for good fiction, as well, and thus far he had yet to encounter a book he had to put down. They were all readable, all with something to gain from them—he was learning a lot about humanity, though there were certainly things that were completely alien to him. He didn't understand the human concept of money and why it was so important. Even missing these huge chunks of culture, there was still so much enjoyment to be derived from books.

The foliage around him grew steadily red, with thick vines wrapping about the trunks of trees. He was in the right place, thankfully. It didn't take him long after that to find the cabin, tucked away as it was. Jiggling the door handle, he opened it slowly. There were not many very fresh scents around here; he doubted anyone was inside but Harlowe didn't wish to startle anyone. He hated being startled and interrupted; he didn't wish to inflict it on anyone else. A quick sweep over the room brought his jade-colored eyes to the books, and he trotted over eagerly, prying them from the shelf. There weren't many, and they weren't his—he couldn't take them forever. But they wouldn't be missed for a few days, either.

He left the door open for the breeze and settled down to the old couch in the corner, tucking his legs up and propping the book on his thighs. Almost immediately he was immersed in the book, as it was a collection of short stories by several authors, and he was able to finish a story very quickly. They were enjoyable and each had a wonderful twist near the end, some that left him rather perplexed. He hardly noticed when the door began to creak with the increasing wind, the smell of rain suddenly drenching the air. A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder certainly caught his attention, and Harlowe looked up sourly into the blackened sky, frowning. He would be stuck here for a while, it seemed.

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