the first flower after the flood.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 05-10-2010, 01:08 AM

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shooort. ;;

Upon noticing the tempestuous outside, Harlowe had only paid it a moment's notice before returning to his book. It would only further decrease his light, and that was all. But Harlowe was young, and his strong eyes could see just fine in the steadily-dimming light. He continued reading even as the rain began to fall outside, drumming steadily against the roof of the cabin and the ground outside, saturating the air with the scent of fresh rain. It was a nice smell, and Harlowe breathed it in, appreciating that scent almost as much as his favorite—the slightly musty, slightly moldy scent of most of the old human books. There was nothing quite like that smell.

A few moments later, he became aware of another presence—the distinctive sounds of footprints on the porch alerted the tawny-furred male to that other canine, peeking up from his book in time to see his sister walk in the door. At that, he returned too his book, content to allow her to speak first and initiate conversation. If she didn't, he was just as content to keep on reading—he spent a lot of time with his siblings, and it was only now that he was growing older that he had begun to branch off. Rio entered and settled down next to him on the couch and spoke, causing him to look up once more. “It's a good thing you found it, too, or you'd be out in the rain,” he said, half a smile on his face. “How are you?” he asked. His pale eyes were on her face, studying the inherent muliebrity in its youthful features.

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