Jul 13, 2005

HR, 11

Harlequin's frustration played made a muddled stew when mixed with his excitement over meeting a real live human being. So much to ask, so much to learn about being human.

He picked up the cask and chose not to let the opportunity for enlightenment pass him by; now, he was faced with the task of filling the cask with alcohol. He'd heard the word before, but he had little idea what it was and no idea how to find it. He did not feel confident heading south, back the the Chinese food place, so he headed west. Over the long grass, he could see only the big tree and a grayish building obscured by its branches.

He noted happily that the field smelt sweetly of rich soil and flowers in bloom, enough to overpower the stench of the city. This, he decided as he strolled through golden grass longer than he, would be the home base from which he made his adventures. Perhaps before he found the alcohol he could find a place suitable for making a temporary home.

Trees were usually abundant sources of such places, if they weren't laid hold of by other animals. The raucous caw that greeted Harlequin's approach indicated that the tree was indeed occupied, from the sound of it, by a crow.

"I mean no harm," called Harlequin (in Common Animal Language) with practiced diplomacy. "I come only to find place in the roots of your tree." He stepped forward a few paces.

The cawing grew in pitch and frequency, interrupted only by a roughly spoken warning:

"Death comes! Stay away!"

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