Chapter 7: Enver
Lightning.
Thunder.
Rain pouring down.
This wouldn't help.
Enver knelt down and sniffed the ground. She couldn't find it. She lost the trail. Lost it's scent. This rain would make it harder to find it. To find him.
"If it even was a him," she thought.
She was pretty sure it was though. After following him around these past few years, she knew it (although she was almost certain it was a him) very well.
If indeed he was a man, he was a very odd man to be sure. He was constantly hobbled over some plant, bush or insect. He had round pieces of what appeared to be glass that he wore over his eyes. She thought this must surely help him to see something she could not see, for he was ever so interested in the tiniest bulb or petal of the littlest flower. He would often take them back to his dwelling in circular glass containers, often mumbling to himself as he made marks on parchment.
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