chasing a trail of smoke and reason.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 07-20-2010, 03:32 AM

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The nervousness threatened to rise in him again, apprehension at whether or not he would find acceptance in this place. The creamy-shaded youth had never imagined it would be difficult; he had rather no idea how it actually worked when accepting people to the pack, as he'd never attended to such duties within Phoenix Valley. They were probably better off without him—no, he could say that with certainty now. Harlowe could not interpret Conor's expression nor his words, and they served to increase that nervousness. A frown crept over his chocolate-furred muzzle, and he wondered what he had done wrong. There was no outright disapproval, but something in Conor's face or body language indicated to Harlowe that things could have been handled better. Then the man spoke again, and the nervousness evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief. He would be allowed to stay here in Dahlia de Mai, and he would be able to learn from Larkspur! “Thanks so much,” the tawny-furred wolf said, his tail wagging behind him in a puppyish manner. So much of Harlowe's demeanor was far from the tormented and strange youth who had confronted Rio, but then again, so much of the tension had drained away in those long moments with her—he had felt it ebb from him and flow into her, and it had been relieving, to say the least. He hardly heard Conor's next words, his mind instead focusing intensely on Larkspur. “Yes. Would you know where I could look for Larkspur?” the chocolate-tipped youth asked, his jade eyes scanning the treeline rather anxiously, seeking the man already.

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