Word Count :: 378 HA I MADE YOU CRY ilu
Harlowe had never heard of Haku Soul or King Chance or anybody from Dahlia de Mai—the only canines he knew from this whole pack were Larkspur and Addison, and the latter he only knew by name. He couldn't have identified her if he tried, of course—they'd never met. “Oh,” he said, disappointment steadily covering his features. “He told me he lives here, though,” the wolf said lamely, realizing for the first time that it might not have been true—but then again, there was all of Larkspur's scent around here. Maybe he just stayed in the packlands? Or maybe he just didn't hang around puppies a lot. Harlowe's mind went over the possibilities rather quickly, and found none satifactory.
The question brought a faint, sheepish smile to the youth's face, and once again his ears folded flat back rather than the half-mast they'd been wavering the past few moments. “I don't know, really. He's like... an uncle, I guess. But he's not Mother's brother. He's further back than that, I think,” the youth said, still perplexed by the relationship between himself and Larkspur. He hadn't found any books to explain it to him yet, though he was still trying. “He knows a lot about the family, so I have to find him and talk to him.” Larkspur knew a lot, it seemed—he had said a strange word that sent tingles up his spine and tasted funny in his mouth, a little coppery and a little bitter all at once. Khalif. That word echoed through his head—the only dictionary definition for the word was that it was a synonym for caliph, which had something to do with a dead human religion. Harlowe didn't understand at all, but in Larkspur he trusted.
The other canine introduced himself, and Harlowe dipped his head in a nod, the closest he came to “good to meet you” or anything of the sort. There was an anxious smile that disappeared as quickly as it came, and once again he shifted his weight, wondering where they ought to go from here. This was King's home, and he didn't want to mess up again like he had with Larkspur originally—too much pushiness could get him put right out of the packlands.
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