chasing a trail of smoke and reason.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 07-15-2010, 05:55 AM

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F UR JOINING SHIZ ((317))

There was a strange peace in the creamy-furred youth as he made his way toward these borders. He had seen their innards but once, but this was the place—the scent of his uncle was faint here, hidden and masked beneath the myriad of other scents of the pack. There were more than he remembered, but they were of no interest to the chocolate-tipped youth. He was not truly aware of anything; there was still that strange scent of fear and... and whatever that had been with Rio, whatever had happened there, clinging to him. It had been wonderful and brutal all at once, clutching the seat of another's power as he had with Princess. Hers' was far more shallow than his sister; then again, maybe he simply needed to dig deeper into those he knew better. Harlowe did not know, and he could not contemplate it. The tawny-furred youth could remember only snatches of detail from what had happened, which was strange, considering his usually sharp memory.

There was little nervousness in Harlowe now; he had taken on an almost dreamlike state, mechanically wandering from Phoenix Valley with the few notebooks and favorite books he'd brought with him in his satchel. There was no way he could have taken everything, and so he had sorted through what he wanted, and quickly—even in his near-hallucinatory state, he knew that he had wronged his sister, and he knew that punishment for it might come. Yet it was not this thing that had driven him from that place; the decision to leave had occurred before Rio. He remembered that clearly. And now—he was here, he was at this border. The youth did not have to steel himself; he tossed his head back to the sky and howled long and low, beckoning for the leader. Maybe Larkspur would hear, too—maybe Larkspur would know. Maybe he already knew.

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