Cats in the Woods {Adrian}

S P E A K I N G // T H I N K I N G

The thread found itself being guided rather carefully through the spine of the book, binding it tightly to the sixty or so pages on cats inside. The stitches were small, tight, and perfect as usual. If it had been done wrong, Tristan would have just as carefully pulled the stitches out if they weren't. Before finishing the last stitch, he made his bookbinder's signature, two stitches tightly made into a square with a small dot of no thread. Every binder has a signature, and Tristan had taken his from his father, and his father before him. Efficiently he cut and tied the thread, and opened the book to see if the book worked properly and he hadn't stupidly sewn it wrong. He let out a small sigh of relief and accomplishment as he found everything to be done well.

Leaning back, he tossed the book onto his desk, and then immediately straightened it. Leaning back once again, he ran a hand through his hair, which was sticking up every which way at the moment. He considered fixing his hair before dropping off the latest project, but for once chose not to. The book was on rush, and was due in one hour exactly. He supposed that the book was for a small child, as the pictures were large, and there was little writing. He hadn't bothered looking through it much, as he couldn't actually read very well. He did know the basics, like any bookbinder, but give him a novel and he was clueless. Besides, he didn't have the time to read leisurely. He had to feed himself somehow. He picked up the needle, to put it away, expertly flicking it so that he would not stab himself. When he was younger he stabbed himself all the time, but now he was more experienced.

He grabbed his blue scarf today, and slung it around his shoulders. Quickly grabbing the book, and sliding it into his book sling, he stomped out the door. He didn't bother with locking it, as he had nothing valuable. He kept the tools to his tried in a pocket inside his boots, so nothing was inside the hut. Even if he wanted to lock it, he couldn't as he was too poor to be able to own a lock yet. So he simply kicked it shut so it jammed, and walked off. The adress that had come with the order was for the manor in the woods, so Tristan knew that he probably had a walk ahead of him, and was already regretting the fact that he hadn't brought a sweater. he hadn't realized how cold it would be underneath the trees, out of the sunshine, and he was already shivering.

It made him want to laugh, but the result was more of a tired, bitter, giggle than a laugh, and it only served to make him feel even cloudier. And when he felt cloudy, his thoughts always drifted over to his sister, and all the other stupid crap in his life. truthfully, Tristan had no friends, unless you counted the black cat that sometimes jumped into his window to steal his small amount of food. And he didn't. He didn't need his food stolen, he was already half starved as it was. Just the thought of the cat made him growl, and he must threw the book on the ground to stalk off, when he remembered that he had to deliver it if he wanted his money. So, he trooped on, getting rather tired of the endless trees. He was following the path that it said on the map, but it seemed to be taking forever just to get anywhere. Truthfully, it had only been ten minutes, but Tristan wasn't the most patient of guys.

Especially when he had important things like nothing,and binding to do. A moment later, his boot slipped into some mad, and a bit splattered up onto his face. He had to stop and wipe it off, and then make sure his boots were clean, so that took another five minutes of his time, and soon enough, with other distractions on his mind, he only had another ten minutes to reach the house, and he hadn't even seen it yet. So grumbling, he broke into a jog, almost groaning at the effort it caused. It wasn't that he wasn't fit, it was that he hadn't eaten yet as he was trying to save his meager daily meal for dinner. He liked to go to bed full, instead of starving, and living alone he could only afford to buy one meal a day. It had frustrated him for about five minutes before he realized that he didn't really care altogether.

He stopped running suddenly, as he ran into a clearing, a large manor in view. He hadn't even known that District seven had manors. He supposed that someone had to own the paper mills, but he hadn't thought that they would be district seveners. It seemed to him that everyone suffered, but here this person was, buying a book on cats. he supposed the cat lover was helping out the economy by purchasing the written, or should he say draw work, but still. He didn't have any extra money to spend on cat books. Even if he did have money to spend on cat books, he wouldn't buy cat books because he would buy food instead. Anyway, buying a cat book was a ridiculous thing to do in his eyes. The only thing it could be useful for was fire kindling. But then again, he was getting paid for binding a cat book.

shaking his head, he decided to stop arguing with himself, and instead took a minute for his breathing to slow, and took stock of his situation. It had taken him a full hour just to get to the stupid place, he was cold, and hungry, and that damned cat was probably trying to break into his house right now. He needed to hurry and get his money so he wouldn't die of starvation at such a young age. Suddenly his eyes went blank, and he stared calculatingly at the door. He couldn't remember if he wanted to die or not, but he was pretty sure the answer was still yes. He relaxed again. So why was he worrying. He had lots of time. Let the cat eat, maybe he would die on the walk home. At precisely five pm, he raised a bare hand to knock on the wooden door, a hand already on the book in his bag. He was expecting some old guy, or maybe a crazy lady with a love for cats.