“Architecture,” the red wolf muttered to himself as he stepped between the high rise buildings, his paw pads falling on hard concrete with every step. “Giant, artsy huts. Yeah, sure, that’s all that is, not like architecture means huge bloody towering buildings that look like they’d blow over in a wind and crash on you, no, it wouldn’t be something as terrifying as that.” He scowled deeply, and nearly quailed as he heard something thumping from an alleyway—though that something something turned out to be a pair of tomcats fighting in a dumpster, which they evacuated promptly and skittered across the road in front of him. His heart drumming a frantic beat in his chest, the male kept on going, still muttering about how he’d underestimated the whole architecture bit.
Unatsi also realized that this was quite a bit further north than he was used to, quite far from AniWaya and the sanctity of his fenced-in territory. The combination of physically unfamiliar sights as well as the unfamiliar feeling of being so far from home had in him near-constant terror, which showed in the tremors of his hands and the promptness with which he responded jumpily to every sight and sound he came across, regardless of if it was the sight of a passing falcon or the trill of a happy little songbird. It was all terrifying, and he knew he was a coward, but what wolf wouldn’t freak out at as strange a place as this? He’d thought the Tribe was all technologically advanced, what with their huts and their fire and their ceremonies and agriculture but no—they didn’t very well know how to deal with architecture and all of the horrifying things hidden between these giant buildings!
“Stop, Una, breathe, inhale and exhale the air, pretend it doesn’t smell so strange around here, probably because of the man-rock, not a lot of trees here, except that weed I saw growing in that black stone path thing or whatever they call it, that weed can make it so you can too. Pretend you are a weed, and you’re damn well going to grow and—well, be a weed, and not die. Just keep a sharp eye, or be vigilant, your eye shouldn’t be sharp unless there’s something like that pointy fence sticking in it; but anyway just breathe in, and out, and—hey! What’s that?”
The ruddy-furred man halted his reassuring monologue to sniff the air, blinking as he caught a trace of plant life among the dull odors of the abandoned city. He could catch a glimpse of the harbor between the buildings, too, but that wasn’t as important as the smell of flowers and other plants. His long muzzle spun in that direction like the needle of a compass, and he began to jog toward the aromas, heedless of all the great dangers lurking in the city that had spooked him so much before.
It was quite obvious when he’d arrived at the place he sought—an overgrown public garden, though he did not know what the humans had done with it in those days. Left to their own devices after the apocalypse, the untamed plants spilled over and dominated the block. There were fewer bright colors, perhaps, than in the spring, but enough of the blooms remained to paint a lovely picture as he stumbled across the garden. He broke out into a huge and dumb smile, wondering just what a find this was.
<style type="text/css">
.unatree-ooc {font-size:9px; line-height:12px; padding:3px; font-style:italic;width:90%; max-width:700px; margin:0 auto; text-align:right;font-family:georgia;}
.unatree {margin:0 auto; background:#d0a475 url(http://i.imgur.com/EmARI.png) no-repeat bottom; width:98%; max-width:700px; border:1px solid #000; color:#000;}
.unatree .in {margin:5px 15px 150px 15px; padding:7px; font-family:arial; font-size:12px; background:url(http://sleepyglow.net/souls/50pct_white.png); text-align:justify;}
.unatree .name {font-family:georgia; font-style:italic; color:#31213c; text-align:center; font-size:30px; margin:10px;}
.unatree p {margin:0; padding:3px 0; text-indent:30px;}
.unatree b {color:#31213c; font-family:georgia;}
.unatree b.npc {font-weight:normal; font-style:italic;}</style>[/html]