Yesterday, 9:27 AM
Novak can't say for sure what happened between falling asleep and waking up amidst a world of spring and sun, but he sure isn't complaining! It makes for better observation of his surroundings, getting a lay of the land as it were.
He's been down in this Westmoor a good bit and has come to know it decently; he kinda favors the weird birds that roost in the weirder trees, and his venture today is mostly for that. What birds would meet him in the golden light of day?
None he guesses!
Because it's not a bird at all that he watches waltz past the bushes he's been settled in, patiently waiting for some flap of wings or trilling song. Novak blinks. It's a stout, fat little creature and he initially makes her for one of those hanging-jowl dogs. With a curious sniff, he stands and peers over the foliage to get a clearer look at the vanishing visage. Not a dog but no grown wolf either; just a puppy of horrendous conformation! Well, such is life.
Novak shoulders himself a path out of the bush, anticipating the moment he'd hear some adult call after the pup or maybe mean mug him for being idle. Instead, quite a decent stretch of time unfolds before he wonders if the pup's gone astray; a fugitive on the run from, like, timeout or something. He can't really allow himself to abandon her for this reason. Had it not been for his parents, surely he would've run out into traffic! What's the alternative to traffic out in the wilds?
Angry herd?
Humming along, he starts off, trailing the pup's path with the clever sense attributed to bird dog instinct. After only getting distracted once, he happens upon the scene. Her pitiful little howl almost makes some paternal instinct within him sputter to life, but he's quick to flit from one emotion to the other; like curiosity now.
Novak approaches the little hollow, allowing some space between he and the entrance, and lowers his head, gaze narrowing to try and discern her from the shadows. "Yooo, dudette, nice digs you got here," he says. "Little young to own real estate though don't ya' think?" Not once does it strike him that she is, first, a child and, second, so divorced from the world he knew that each word might as well have been some foreign language.
He's been down in this Westmoor a good bit and has come to know it decently; he kinda favors the weird birds that roost in the weirder trees, and his venture today is mostly for that. What birds would meet him in the golden light of day?
None he guesses!
Because it's not a bird at all that he watches waltz past the bushes he's been settled in, patiently waiting for some flap of wings or trilling song. Novak blinks. It's a stout, fat little creature and he initially makes her for one of those hanging-jowl dogs. With a curious sniff, he stands and peers over the foliage to get a clearer look at the vanishing visage. Not a dog but no grown wolf either; just a puppy of horrendous conformation! Well, such is life.
Novak shoulders himself a path out of the bush, anticipating the moment he'd hear some adult call after the pup or maybe mean mug him for being idle. Instead, quite a decent stretch of time unfolds before he wonders if the pup's gone astray; a fugitive on the run from, like, timeout or something. He can't really allow himself to abandon her for this reason. Had it not been for his parents, surely he would've run out into traffic! What's the alternative to traffic out in the wilds?
Angry herd?
Humming along, he starts off, trailing the pup's path with the clever sense attributed to bird dog instinct. After only getting distracted once, he happens upon the scene. Her pitiful little howl almost makes some paternal instinct within him sputter to life, but he's quick to flit from one emotion to the other; like curiosity now.
Novak approaches the little hollow, allowing some space between he and the entrance, and lowers his head, gaze narrowing to try and discern her from the shadows. "Yooo, dudette, nice digs you got here," he says. "Little young to own real estate though don't ya' think?" Not once does it strike him that she is, first, a child and, second, so divorced from the world he knew that each word might as well have been some foreign language.