HENRY
I was waiting for something extraordinary
but as the years wasted on...
but as the years wasted on...
Henry was wearing his trademark sheepskin jacket, due to the cold, gray gloom that was cast over the settlement. Otherwise, the weather was fairly clear. He was out delivering some leftovers to a few family friends. His parents often sent him or his brother on those kind of errands - or to take their place in the markets selling wool and meat. His deliveries had come to an end but, as he glanced into the pack he was carrying, there was still one container left of food. His mother had probably packed it for him. A slight smile worked its way onto his face. She didn't have to do that...
As he contemplated where to eat and continued walking, he noticed that the door to Wordsworth Books was open. He casually meandered over, pausing in the doorway as Sam's cat greeted him. "Hey there, Mia!" He bent down to scratch her beneath the chin, to which she relaxed into his hand - as any cat would.
He glanced up as he continued petting the cat and looked around for Sam. His eyes found the older man at the counter, holding a piece of paper and a pen. Of course. "Sam! It's been a while," Henry said, standing up and walking over with a grin.
He paused to pull the container, wrapped securely in a white cloth, from his pack. He set it on the counterspace, wherever there was any. Sam was probably used to this kind of generosity from the Walkers. They always kept their friends well-fed, so Henry didn't feel the need to explain; he merely gestured to it to indicate that he'd brought it for Sam. If Sam was hungry, he would find warm leftovers of roast lamb and garnished potatoes.
Leaning onto the counter with his chin in his hand, Henry looked down at what Sam was working on. "Are you writing about your crazy adventures?" he asked, glancing up at Sam's face. There was a bit of... something extra in Henry's tone and expression. He wanted his own adventures to write about and he was sore that he didn't have any.
As he contemplated where to eat and continued walking, he noticed that the door to Wordsworth Books was open. He casually meandered over, pausing in the doorway as Sam's cat greeted him. "Hey there, Mia!" He bent down to scratch her beneath the chin, to which she relaxed into his hand - as any cat would.
He glanced up as he continued petting the cat and looked around for Sam. His eyes found the older man at the counter, holding a piece of paper and a pen. Of course. "Sam! It's been a while," Henry said, standing up and walking over with a grin.
He paused to pull the container, wrapped securely in a white cloth, from his pack. He set it on the counterspace, wherever there was any. Sam was probably used to this kind of generosity from the Walkers. They always kept their friends well-fed, so Henry didn't feel the need to explain; he merely gestured to it to indicate that he'd brought it for Sam. If Sam was hungry, he would find warm leftovers of roast lamb and garnished potatoes.
Leaning onto the counter with his chin in his hand, Henry looked down at what Sam was working on. "Are you writing about your crazy adventures?" he asked, glancing up at Sam's face. There was a bit of... something extra in Henry's tone and expression. He wanted his own adventures to write about and he was sore that he didn't have any.
nothing ever did
unless I caused it
unless I caused it
