a Primal Pursuit

seventy two

"Are you sure we should do this?" Arabella wondered. "Two meals today?"

I snorted a laugh, shrugging. "It's just dinner."

Arabella pursed her lips, her brown eyes narrowing. I grinned, picking up my fork and gesturing at her to copy. I decided that after visiting various stores over an entire seven hour trip, more food was needed.

"So, tell me more about school." I pestered after she gave in and ate. "Do you get to pick subjects?"

"It's a mixed pack school. I think there's barely fifteen kids each year." She began. "So no, I don't get to pick all my subjects. I think we all have to attend wolf subjects."

"Oh, yeah? Like politics and history?"

"I think so," she nodded. "There's an enormous library, too."

I grinned. "Of course, that is what you pick up on."

She grins back, laughing bashfully. "It has everything there. Even some of the oldest books in history."

My interest peaked. "Human books?"

"Yes! Human books!" She giggled, her excitement growing. "Come with me one day."

"That would actually be great. I've wondered where all the human books went."

"They're apparently locked away. You can only view them in the library itself and if you want to check them out, they have trackers on them." She explained. "Like here, where you can't take them out of pack lands."

I grimaced. "Let me guess, thieves?"

Her lips pursed. "I would guess so. Human texts must go for good money."

"I haven't visited Asra's library, you know. I get so caught up in everything." I muttered.

"It's amazing, but not as good as the school's." Arabella sighed.

I laughed. "You sure love books, don't you?"

"I want to be a writer so bad, Ailia." She frowned.

This was news to me.

Leaning forward, I captured her attention. "You do?"

"Yeah, I do. Well, I mean, I'm pretty sure I do. I love books, and I love stories and thinking about it all..." she trailed. "I have dreams and I think about their entire plots."

"Does the school have creative writing?" I wondered. "If you want to try it, Bella, you should."

I noticed the way her eyes softened at her nickname. Dad used to always call her Bella, or Belle, because of her love of literature, much like the old fairy tale he used to read us.

"Do you... remember Dad?"

I blinked, taken aback. "Of course, I do."

"I mean, like, remember, remember him?" She paused, glancing down at her plate. "I think of him sometimes, but I can never picture him."

My jaw tightened, and I swallowed nervously. I didn't want to tell her anything just yet, not wanting to crash any hopes. It was the same reason I kept it bottled inside of me, not getting ahead of myself with all these revelations.

"Maybe it's just because you were so young," I suggested. "You were five."

"I was four," Arabella shook her head.

I paused, my forehead creasing. "No, you were five. Dad died just after your..."

My words drifted as my mind hit yet another roadblock. Arabella's birthday is in the May, three months after mine. I was nine, and she was five, right?