OMFG WHAT IS WITH THIS SHMEE ALL UP IN MY THREADS GUH
The pages flew before Harlowe's face, and he was entirely sucked into the world painted by humans. He did not fully comprehend their society, but he was fascinated by it—in this novel, most of the characters seemed to resemble him. Their emotions were choked, buried way down inside of them to present a polite social face. This seemed strikingly similar to the way Harlowe interacted with the world; he did not truly enjoy its company, but society said he had to pretend to, and so he did. What would happen if he stopped pretending one day? This question struck him, and the young man stuck his thumb into his place, closing the book gently over his finger to contemplate this for a moment. What would happen if he stopped trying to fit in, stopped pretending he did? Even as young as he was, Harlowe was aware that there was something different about him—he had yet to identify it, of course, but he was already distinctly aware of the differences between himself and those around him.
A moment later the youth had dived back into his book, and his mind was lost in the world of his story again, transported away to the strange world in which these humans lived. He was confused by many of the references and some of the words were strange to him, but he was enjoying it nonetheless. The tawny-furred canine was completely oblivious to the approach of his unknown packmate, failing to detect her until she was practically on top of him. Hurriedly he shut the book, fidgeting nervously as she approached. The multi-hued woman was a stranger, though she had to be of the Valley pack on this particular coast—intruders wouldn't make it this far in. As she approached, she spoke, and the tawny-furred youth listened to her words. He understood her, of course—he had already mastered reading the language, so listening comprehension was not a problem.
His bright olive-colored eyes darted up to her face for a moment, his youthful face showing clear nervousness and agitation, and almost immediately he again averted his eyes, drawing them to the dirt in front of his paws. A slight, almost imperceptible shrug issued from his fawn-colored shoulders, and he continued to fidget with the closed book in his hands, running his fingers over its edges over and over again.
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