02-24-2008, 12:05 AM
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If there was one thing Ari stood for, it was a sort of no-nonsense thought process when it came to who he was. When he was around others, he did not pretend. He was a scrawny, possibly good-for-nothing boy who had a passion for painting and who took up space better left for more capable wolves. Alone, however, he painted his own tapestries of huge battles, grand adventures, and journeys to the ends of the earth. This duality in his imagination offset him from the others of the world — making his own solitude seem much more appealing. Nevertheless, he didn't mind walking with this stranger — Poe, as she introduced herself.
She continued on, speaking of poets and authors. Neither made any sense to Ari. As the lowest son of a Diviner — one who worked with spirits, not books — he had never learned to read or write. He had never learned geography. He had never learned arithmetic. He had never learned science. The only thing he had learned was art, and it was self-taught. Despite the fact that she could have been leading him on with this talk of another life, he thought to believe it. The lines between his lonely fantasy and simple self seemed to blur in these haunted woods.
She didn't, however. She moved before him, turning and facing him while she continued, walking backwards. He watched her warily, though he didn't break his stride. He was horrible at judging age, but he knew that she was an adult. Probably more than double his own age. Despite how old she looked, she wasn't very tall — Ari wasn't very tall, but he still stood taller than she. He, with his gaunt build, was put to shame by her however. He had to admit — walking together, they made an odd pair. Focused on her green eyes — perhaps the only color he could see in the mist — he spoke with a similar tone as he had earlier,
He was either stupid, or hopelessly sheltered. Or both.
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If there was one thing Ari stood for, it was a sort of no-nonsense thought process when it came to who he was. When he was around others, he did not pretend. He was a scrawny, possibly good-for-nothing boy who had a passion for painting and who took up space better left for more capable wolves. Alone, however, he painted his own tapestries of huge battles, grand adventures, and journeys to the ends of the earth. This duality in his imagination offset him from the others of the world — making his own solitude seem much more appealing. Nevertheless, he didn't mind walking with this stranger — Poe, as she introduced herself.
She continued on, speaking of poets and authors. Neither made any sense to Ari. As the lowest son of a Diviner — one who worked with spirits, not books — he had never learned to read or write. He had never learned geography. He had never learned arithmetic. He had never learned science. The only thing he had learned was art, and it was self-taught. Despite the fact that she could have been leading him on with this talk of another life, he thought to believe it. The lines between his lonely fantasy and simple self seemed to blur in these haunted woods.
I can't read,he stated in his matter-of-fact voice, not caring that she probably didn't care to know. She should, he guessed. If she continued on about reading and authors, he might have to stop her eventually.
She didn't, however. She moved before him, turning and facing him while she continued, walking backwards. He watched her warily, though he didn't break his stride. He was horrible at judging age, but he knew that she was an adult. Probably more than double his own age. Despite how old she looked, she wasn't very tall — Ari wasn't very tall, but he still stood taller than she. He, with his gaunt build, was put to shame by her however. He had to admit — walking together, they made an odd pair. Focused on her green eyes — perhaps the only color he could see in the mist — he spoke with a similar tone as he had earlier,
I'm Ari. My mother told me my name meant 'lion' and was short for 'Aristotle', but... I'm not sure what either of those are.
He was either stupid, or hopelessly sheltered. Or both.