branches of barbed wire.
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Word Count :: 370 OHAY YOU WANTED ONE OF THESE RIGHT!


Harlowe had not been in Dahlia de Mai very long, but he was attempting to be more productive here. It felt strange, coming to this place and being more social than he had been at home, but then again, a lot of people in Phoenix Valley probably remembered the shy little thing that refused to speak for the first six months of its life. Harlowe was not that very same child; he had done some very important things since then. He had passed many tests delivered to him through Larkspur and forces beyond Larkspur. These were things he did not know how to name, naturally, but in time, he would learn their names. He would learn their truth and purpose, too, and maybe then he would understand the tests given to him. Maybe then he would understand why Mother left and why he had to do what he did to Rio. Even if not, that was alright—Harlowe was quite certain the answers were out there, somewhere.


And so it was that the creamy-furred youth remained, lingering just outside of his house in Berwick. Harlowe was less comfortable in a house than he thought he would be—even though it was a pathetically small ranch-styled house, low slung and a single floor, the youth felt it was vast, far too much space than he could ever use. Even so, things had begun to collect in the house—after he'd cleaned it of much of the prior residents' leftovers, he had begun to bring his own style of junk into the house. For the most part, it was books—there were already haphazard stacks of them gathering in his house. Some were unreadable, too water-damaged or slicked over with mold to so much as make out a single word. Even so, the tawny-furred youth would keep them—those and notebooks. It did not matter to Harlowe if there was a single blank sheet remaining in the notebook; he would take it and keep those as well.


The sun was rather bright today, and Harlowe remained in the shade of the house, leaned up against the foundation with a book in his lap, his nitid eyes scanning the pages with impossible quickness.

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