The Yellow Tongued Wolf 468Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU9ZnVsOCAq
Sol kept to his promise, and showed Egg to his room stacked with all the books he’d brought from home. Sol sat surrounded by stacks of books, some sprawled open to a random page and others open to pages of brilliant water coloured illustrations of knights, maidens and dragons.
Egg inspected each and every book without a word. He’d start by examining the cover and feeling the spine and bumps of the binding, the cotton, soft to the touch pages and gold-woven words of the title and authors name. He was oddly patient for his usually energetic self, and was careful to handle them properly and place them back onto their stack of no particular order.
“Which one are ya- ah, you, looking for?” Sol asked, gritting his teeth at his slight lilt.
“The Yellow Tongued Snake, I want you to read me this story about this fancy eight year old Lordlin’.”
“Oh,” was all Sol could say to that. Sol looked down to his books, staring at the words and not bothering to read the words as he flipped the pages slowly.
“What is it?” Egg asked, his adorable lilt with a curious edge.
“It’s…not exactly a story, well, yet…I mean, I hope so. Maybe one day,” Sol sad quickly.
Egg looked to him for a moment, and Sol cringed inwardly. Then, he smiled and his eyes laughed turning a warm, honey-amber in the evening light pouring through the slits of the blinds on the window above the bookshelf.
“You made that story yourself, didn’t you?” Egg said, sitting behind Sol’s wall of stacked books that hid his embarrassed face.
“You…don’t think it’s stupid?” Sol mumbled, staring at the carpet.
“I think…you’re really good at coming up with stuff. Whenever we play games, you always come up with the really scary monsters n’ fun stuff like that, you even made a story about that old creepy hunting hut we found…so…I think you’re stories would be really good!” Egg said, staring off as he said this, not noticing Sol’s half smile as he looked to Egg with watery blue eyes.
Night had begun to fall by the time Sol had finished trying to tell his story, but by the end he admitted that he thought he was a better reader than teller, despite Egg’s insistence that he really liked it.
The night birds called their nightly song and the wind whistled through the leaves of the vines stalking up the manor walls when Sol opened the red-ribbon bound book his mother had gifted him for his sixth birthday. He took a deep breath and looked to Egg, then back to the page, and read. But by the time Sol had finished his story, Egg was sound asleep. 468Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM2GpJpO8Ds
