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ooc Congrats! And you inspired me and I went crazy. WC 1,227
The tiny Luperci nodded casually as Malachi questioned her about her reading. There was a snippet of pride mixed into her own stance, as though she was proud to show the bear that she was not completely daft when it came to her species or her culture (although she actually was, since the extent of her bear knowledge came from a few passing notes in a science journal, and the rest from a book titled Winnie the Pooh). Yet as Malachi went on her expression transformed into a tangled mixture of shock and confusion. What was Malachi talking about? Wolf killers who? Orin assumed that her mind must have wandered off at some point in the conversation, as it so frequently did, and she missed the segue into whatever the creature was going on about now. She paused a moment, just a beat, trying to ponder her way through this one. Maybe she was talking about killer wolves. ‘Well, yes, killer wolves don’t really deserve a treat like honey, I suppose,’ she thought to herself, and continued on.
“Yeah! Well, I mean, it wasn’t about you you, specifically. But it was about your kind,” she gave a rigid nod.
Then the grizzly said something else that thoroughly confused her, and she began to suspect that, although she and Malachi spoke the same language, perhaps one of them (okay, no, perhaps Malachi was really what Orin was thinking) did not properly understand it. Maybe it was a second language? It was possible that she had been taught by some other wolf, and maybe the bear was still refining her verbal skills. Well, that was all just fine! Orin could help her with that! She grinned again and proffered the best answer she could, not wanting to contradict or embarrass the bear. Clearly, she thought the word ‘wolf’ must refer to all living creatures, which would have made sense if she had learned her language from one. “Yes, all wolves speak the same language. Well, actually… there are a lot of people who know a few languages, some even brought over from the remnants of human society. We know and learn them from the books. A lot of Luperci come from other continents knowing a variation of our own language, or another language completely. But yes, really, most wolves speak the same language!” She giggled, happy with her explanation.
She turned away from Malachi and continued on, carrying her now less bulky stack of planks across the square and towards her shop that lay at one end of the horseshoe that made up the commercial district of Thornbury, yet was close to the center of town. Her ears twitched and swiveled at the sound of shuffling, and as she tracked lightly through the snow she glanced back over her shoulder to see Malachi with the boards clamped in her jaws and awkwardly trying to kick the pebble along. Knowing so little about bears, Orin did not know that Malachi could not walk very far on her hind legs, even though she had sturdy balance. She felt a tear of shame jolt through her core as she realized she was being insensitive, and she quickly doubled back to Malachi. The bear had offered to carry the planks, so she did not fuss with the wood, but she squatted down and snagged the pebble, setting it atop the pile in her arms. “Sorry. Let me get that for you.”
But when she looked into Malachi’s face she had seen something solemn behind her eyes. Her new friend seemed a bit more slumped than a moment ago, and Orin bit her bottom lip as she fretted and walked. Her eyebrows pursed together, wondering what was wrong, wondering if she had embarrassed the grizzly. Little did she know that Malachi was dwelling on the fact that Orin said she had read something about her. She had been oblivious when Malachi’s expression first faltered, and now she was unable to puzzle the problem despite wracking her brain.
When she reached the bookstore she leaped up the two stone steps of the threshold and nudged the door open with her hip. Replacing the latch was low on her priorities since everyone in Cercatori D’Arte was welcome in her shop at any time. The next time she peered over her shoulder at the bear, Malachi was trying to mutter a distorted answer around the burden in her maw. Orin couldn’t help but smile and snicker softly as she slipped through the doorway. “My friend, I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you just said.”
The woman left the door open for Malachi and skittered across the bare floor of the bookstore, quickly depositing her load behind what once was the sales counter. The surface was damaged and was the most likely candidate for the new materials, requiring a patch in both the side and the top. Orin slapped her hands together a couple times, wiping them off before remembering the pebble and retrieving it from the pile. She turned back to the doorway and Malachi, waving her over. “If you could set it down here, that’d be a lot of help. Thank you so much.
“Next, I’ve got to figure out how to fix this. I’ve done some repairs before but I’m not really good at it, and I’d prefer someone else hammer on their own thumbs for a while. I need mine for writing.” She held up her hands and flexed her delicate fingers.
“You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable, if you’d like,” she said as she gestured to the rest of the shop. Upon entering the bookstore to the right the walls were lined with shelves and books, as well as several rows of shelving. The main floor of the store had been cleared, and a table and a couple simple chairs had been placed close to the opposite wall – some minor furniture Orin had salvaged. “If you can… Sorry it’s not too homey yet. I haven’t really had much of a chance to spruce it up, but at least that skunk smell is finally leaving.” She laughed at the memory. “When I found this place, Shawchert scared a hibernating skunk and it sprayed him!” Truth be told, Orin had been the one who scared it and it sprayed her, Shawchert had pulled her out of the way of most of the blast and then ran the black and white critter off while she was off in a bush panicking.
“I hope you’re not cold. I don’t really have any heat in here, either,” she looked rueful. “Come springtime I hope to figure out a way to build a fireplace in that wall, but it can’t be done before then. The mortar would never dry… and I don’t even know anyone who can mix any, either. It’s not that big of a deal to me because I’m made for the snow.” She ran a hand along the thick ruff of fur that had filled in this season.
“Okay, so, hey, if you don’t mind,” she asked as she casually propped herself up on the damaged counter. The injured wood creaked beneath her weight, but she was so slight that it did not crumble under her like it would have a normal Luperci. “Tell me more about this language you’re speaking. Oh… oh-ko-tee… friend?”