and a season to sleep.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 04-04-2010, 02:30 AM

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The tawny-furred youth was a logical type, and the notion of energies other than those obtained via digestion or photosynthesis confused him. He understood the notion of the plant making its own energy, but those processes ceased once the plant had stopped living. How could it continue to produce energy if it was already dead? That made about as much sense as a corpse moving about. Zombies might have been enough to scare normal children, but Harlowe didn't think it was possible for the dead to stand up and keep walking around. He ran the sprig of lavender close to his nose, inhaling and enjoying the fragrance. Even if he didn't think it was still capable of producing energy, he could still enjoy that part of it.

The woman's encouragement caused a small smile to erupt on Harlowe's face; it was good to think that someone cared beyond his parents—he felt lately that others had ceased speaking to him, figuring that he would never talk, figuring he didn't want to talk. At least this was something new. He had spoken once—he could do it again. Steeling himself and inhaling a breath, once again his eyes kept carefully trained away from the woman, focusing instead on the distant ocean. “But I get scared to talk,” he said, a gentle contradiction. He wasn't about to argue with her; time could only tell whether he would grow more comfortable with speaking. But here he had spoken one more sentence, a little longer this time—the youth's progression in the past few moments alone was remarkable, but he wasn't quite ready to start babbling away yet.

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