The Fox - Part II

He wondered if she noticed him still. For the past hour or so, he had watched her poring over an ancient tome she had dragged out from one of the more deserted bookshelves in the library. He tapped his fingers lightly against the wood of the table, relishing the feel of the grain beneath his skin. It had been such a long time since he had been able to feel anything other than the cold and dust. He loved it. Being in a body again. He was so very close to regaining his freedom. But also very close to losing it. His fingers stiffened on the table as she rose and began to clear her notepad and pencil, stuffing them into her back pack haphazardly. She tried to lift the book from the table but at the last minute the heavy tome slipped, landing on her fingers with a muffled thump accompanied by her yelp of pain. This was his chance. He stood up fluidly, leaving his chair as it was and strode over to the girl who was so distractedly rubbing her sore fingers that she failed to notice him until he picked up the book she had been trying to lift. "Greetings." he said softly with what he thought was a smile. Human expressions were hard to decipher. She burst out laughing.

After she had wiped the tears from her eyes, she couldn't help but chuckle a little at his expression. He looked a little dumbfounded, his long fingers curled around the edge of the book and his dark brows drawn together in a little frown. "I'm sorry I laughed," she replied, trying very hard to hide her smile "It's just that nobody in this age would ever dream of saying 'Greetings' to someone else. It's all 'hi' and 'hello' or just 'hey'. You're the first I've ever heard and honestly, it sounded weird." He dipped his head in acknowledgement of her apology and gestured at the book with his free hand. "You wanted to put this back, yes?" She nodded and smiled, "Until it slammed my fingers, yes. I did want to put it back." He moved gracefully, almost as if slinking with every step, dark brownish red hair glinting with copper strands highlighted in the light coming from the dusty library window. Her hand itched to sketch him, all reds and browns and dark shadows and angles. His hair was a dark flame silhouetted against the light, the coppery tints giving him a halo of sorts. From where she stood, he looked like an angel without wings.

~Rei Shiori