Closed Exploring the Jungle

[Adoros]

16th day of Summer, 513 AV Wright Memorial Library Scratch, Scratch, pause. Scratch, scratch, pause. For nearly a bell, this sequence of events had been occurring at a secluded table in the Wright Memorial Library. The sight one would find if they would have investigated that sound at any time in the last hour would've have been a young child, wearing drab but functional clothing, drawing away in a book. Head bent over, the boy was staring intently at this book, as well as another that was laying open at a random page. If that investigative person went over and asked this child what he was doing, they would've gotten no response. For this was Adoros, the mute orphan on Zeltiva, and he didn't speak to strangers. . . in fact, he didn't speak at all. But that was alright by the young boy; he was never much of a talkative person all his life, unless he was telling a story. Even then, when given a chance to portray a theme or a motif without the use of words, Adoros went after it. And this? This was one of those moments where he was telling a story in a drawing, a sketch with only a quill, a vial of ink, and his sheet of paper. This story was one of chance, of a random spur by the child. He had left the orphanage that morning searching for inspiration; usually, he wandered the streets for such things, but today he was feeling a change of scenery might've done the trick. Everything he saw on the streets of Zeltiva was so. . . familiar, so traditional. He could only see so many fish-mongers and sailors before he ran out of ideas. No, the child wanted something new, something fresh, and for that, he needed to read a book. What better place to read a book than the Wright Memorial Library? Wandering up and down the lanes of shelves, the child searched at random for something exotic, something he had never experienced before. He searched, searched, and searched some more, seemingly without any luck. He was this close to giving in when the book he had been searching for the entire time. There wasn't a specific genre or topic he had been seeking, just inspiration. And this boy truly was inspiring the child. The name of this book? An Accumulation of Sailor's Accounts of the Falyndar Jungle by William Donovan. With this book, Adoros was exploring the jungle. With this book. . . Adoros was drawing a tiger.

[Castor Riley]

As per usual, Castor found himself roaming the halls of the library. He had only just started his shift, when he noticed a book that had been misplaced and was quickly returning it to the fiction section where it belonged. Misplaced books were one of the things he hated the most and not just because he liked everything to be organised and orderly; a misplaced book in the Wright Memorial Library might as well be considered destroyed, as the chance of a person who needs it finding it would be almost the same in both cases. As he passed by the reading desks for the fiction section, he noticed a young boy writing something in a notebook. At first he was worried that the book was a library one, but he noticed that the child was in fact drawing on blank pages. A drawing book, then, he thought to himself. He attended to the misplaced book first, before returning to peer over the child's shoulder. He saw that he was reading An Accumulation of Sailor's Accounts of the Falyndar Jungle by William Donovan, a book Castor had perused himself once, due to his childhood interest in the jungle. The book was very well-written, though it had received some harsh (if well-deserved) literary critique due to the author's neglecting to mention it was a work of pure fiction. It was widely considered one of the top sources of misinformation on the Falyndar jungle. Turning his attention to the child's drawing, Castor was amazed at the level of detail. His drawing was much better than his own, pitiful attempt the other day at the Quill's Rest, even if it did need a bit of polishing up. Slowly, out of the boy's imagination, the words from Donovan's book were being molded into the image of a Myrian tiger. However, something about the tiger seemed off to Castor. Some detail was not quite right, so he thought back to the passage his grandfather had written in his journal, where he'd been faced with death at the jaws of one of these fearsome beasts.

[Adoros]

The library was bustling with activity, students and librarians moving about with their own individual tasks. The rustling of books and parchments, the dull roar of voices, even the breath of one Castor Riley down a young child's neck- all of it was ignored by Adoros. He was oblivious to the world around him when he was in his creative zone; the man looking over his shoulder did not say anything, did not make any move to reveal his presence, so Adoros did not notice him. This was just one of his abilities he developed early on, to prevent others from interfering with his peace, his creative time. Sadly, one talent Adoros had yet to discover in his young life was the ability to differentiate between fact and fiction. Flipping through these pages, Adoros felt as if he was standing in the Jungle, with the exotic calls of the birds above, and the rustling of the creatures below. He had never been to the region, so how could he be so quick to excuse these words for farce. Plus, William Donovan's told his tale of this Jungle so fantastically that Adoros could almost not believe it was fiction. Adoros almost forced himself to see the truth in each account, each quote, each page; Alas, this young child felt a lie told beautifully was better than a truth that was boring to the eyes and ears. Thus, regardless of whether Adoros didn't know this book was fiction, or he didn't want to accept it, Adoros believed what he was reading was accurate. The particular account that mesmerized Adoros the most was a drawn quote from a Zeltivan sailor by the name of Xavier Mortaine (a name fabricated by Donovan, which again, Adoros did not realize) who provided a captivating description of of a Myrian Tiger. Adoros read those words and he just pictured this majestic beast standing tall beneath the canopy of the trees above, the shadows dancing across its body was the leaves blew above. Adoros had the imagination to create anything; the hard part was transferring the image into a format where everyone could experience it. So what Castor Riley was seeing over the shoulder of Adoros truly was a tiger, drawn with only the account from this book and a child's imagination as reference. Despite the limited exposure to this exotic creature, Adoros, for the most part, portrayed the beast accurately. The beast was standing on its four legs, claws protruding from the front two paws. Its mouth was wide open, a silent roar escaping its lips, with vicious fangs visible for all to see. Overall, to any who knew what a tiger looked like, they could tell this was in fact a tiger. Except it had no stripes covering its body. This was the detail that was off with this picture. Such a major part of a tiger, the detail that made a tiger who it was. The tiger wasn't completely bare, though, which is why any observers wouldn't have noticed at first the missing stripes. Wrapping around the body of this tiger, Adoros had drawn vines. This was not a creative interpretation, no, but the description given by one Xavier Mortaine in the book Adoros had been reading. "The Myrian Tiger truly is a vile creature of the forest, with vines wrapping around its body. We sailors had mistakenly thought these designs were actually stripes, but if one were to get as close as I, they would vouch my claims." Plain as day, this book claimed the Myrian Tiger had vines wrapping around it, a claim easily dismissed by learned individuals. But to a child? To a child, this was hauntingly beautiful. So, when Castor Riley had actually walked up on Adoros, he had been working on the vines. With his quill, he slowly drew the vines wrapping around the body. Every so often, he would break off from the linear vine shape and draw a leaf. Since this picture was being drawn in a note book instead on canvas or some other large object, the vines didn't take long to complete. Once the final line were connected for the vine and leaves, Adoros stuck his quill into his vial of ink, and looked at his picture. His tiger was complete, but for some reason, the image didn't feel complete. Adoros felt as if he should add something more to it, but he didn't know what. And besides, he didn't have the time just yet, since Adoros realized someone was standing behind him. Turning in his chair, the curly haired child looked up at the man. How long had he been standing there, watching? What did he think of the drawing? Adoros had a plethora of questions to ask this man, all of which could not be asked. So Adoros just stared up him, no emotion on his face. He knew this man would say something; they always did.

[Castor Riley]

Suddenly it was clear as day. He hadn't noticed at first, as he thought the boy was just drawing elaborate stripes, but when he started adding leaves to them, he realised he thought a tiger's stripes were actually vines. He knew it would be wrong to laugh, so he put forth a valiant effort and succeeded to avoid that particular embarassment. However, he soon forgot a tiger wrapped in vines was something to laugh at, as the boy's drawing skill made it look so naturally complementary to the tiger's ferocity. If there was one thing to be said about the boy, it was surely that his imagination was extraordinary. Castor paid attention to the way the boy held the quill, sketching his beautiful drawing. He wondered if there was some secret to be found there, but waited patiently for the boy to either finish his drawing, or notice him. --------------------- After waiting for a few chimes, the boy finally did notice him. His concentration must have been fierce, for Castor had been standing over his shoulder for quite some time. The boy turned around and all of his body language seemed to say 'What?' but no sound, nor attempt to make one came from the boy's mouth. Castor felt his own dry a bit when he saw this; it reminded him so much of his father, the way his body and expressions had been trained to shout their desires, when his mouth no longer could. Castor had always felt that this was something that developed naturally, an emphatic body language and one that Castor had had to learn to read over the five years he had cared for his mute father. Suddenly, that skillset he'd thought he wouldn't need again was becoming active and was interpreting once more. Castor shook away the dark thoughts that always threatened to cloud his mind whenever he thought about his father. He smiled as pleasantly as he could at the child and said "Nice drawing. I'm Castor, a librarian here. Could you tell me your name?" However, the feeling he was getting in his gut was too strong, so he couldn't resist adding "Or you can write it, in the corner of your drawing." He tapped the bottom right corner. "A signature, to show that it's your painting," he said to cover his bases in case his instinct was wrong.

[Adoros]

Awkward silences often occurred in situations like this, when two individuals link eyes for the first time. There is that pause, that brief silence, when both individuals take in the other. They note their features, their visible emotions, their mannerisms, all in seconds. And then they speak, one, and then the other. Usually it was an introduction, a greeting, followed by a curious question or a cliche statement. Then the other person would do the same. This was how conversations usually worked in society. But with Adoros, only one person did the talking. The child sat there as the hairy man introduced himself as Castor, a librarian at this establishment. And then came the question: "what is your name?" Adoros stared blankly at Castor, little emotion crossing his visage, but his inner being sighed in frustration. Why did everyone have to ask what his name was? Could someone get to know someone without knowing there name? There was something different about this man, though. He didn't just ask the question and wait for his verbal response. Instead, he even gave a suggestion to him that even a mute could follow; how well did this stranger know the young child? Had he seen him before, or heard about the mute child who frequented the library? Looking up at the man, Adoros could sense wisdom in him, intelligence that many others didn't possess. Of course, Adoros didn't comment on any of it. Instead, he dipped his quill into his ink vial, and carefully wrote his name in the bottom right corner of the picture. The signature was small, a soft detail that didn't take away from the true beauty on the page. Despite this, Castor could distinguish the signature, allowing him to learn his name. And with that, Adoros fell silent once more -not that he as loud to begin with- waiting to see what this man had to say.

[Castor Riley]

Castor watched as the child chose to write his name down rather than say it, and was filled with a feeling of certainty that his instinct had been correct. He knew that an inability to talk was not the only possible reason for the child's silence; he could be shy, or he could be following the sage advice of not talking to strangers, both of which were objectively much more likely scenarios. But Castor had seen muteness before, and he knew the mannerisms associated with it -- ones that he was now recognising in the young boy's behaviour. Looking at the corner of the parchment where he'd signed his name, he read a single word: 'Adoros'. "Adoros," he said aloud. "That's a nice name. You know, you remind me a lot of my father, Adoros. He wasn't able to communicate what he wanted very well, so he had to find other ways to do so. Is it the same with you Adoros?" He asked, a friendly smile on his face. Could this boy really be the same? He looked around for the boy's guardian. "Are your parents nearby?" He added, concerned about the boy being unaccompanied, even if Zeltiva was one of the safer places on Mizahar.

[Adoros]

Adoros always wondered how his name would sound to him if he were to ever speak it himself. . . His parents, the adults and the children at the orphanage, complete strangers, they all had the benefit of saying his name. Male, female, adult, child. Adoros sounded different on every person’s lips. He had heard the name so many times, He had said it never. This feeling, this remorse was usually never felt unless Adoros was hearing his name spoken for the first time by a new person. In moments like these, the people were testing the name of the tips of their tongues, feeling it. Castor Riley was testing Adoro’s name when he spoke it aloud. And like so many times before, Adoros envied those who could speak. And like so many times before, Adoros let this feeling of jealousy pass. He told himself (ironically) to not brood on the past and handle the present; there was nothing he could do to change himself. He could only continue on life with those who didn’t quite understand his plight. This Castor, though, continued to puzzle Adoros; to the child, he didn’t appear to be the others. He didn’t pretend to care, to understand, and he didn’t ignore the child either. Instead, in both his actions and his words, Castor proved to be wise. This bearded man told him how his father faced the same difficulties Adoros faced; he even asked if he truly was suffering from something, not just being shy. Alas, this was the difficult of a mute. One who wanted to prove he can speak only had to say how a word. How, though, could a mute prove he couldn’t speak, without someone assuming they were just shy. Again, Adoros didn’t reveal any of the thoughts through his emotions. To answer Castor’s question, Adoros merely nodded in response; if Castor had interacted with mutes before, he would understand. The first inquiry proved easy to answer, but the second hurt worse. Where were his parents? Why in the world did someone have to know that? Was he some child who needed parental supervision at all hours of the day? Adoros held up a single finger to tell Castor to wait, before turning back to the picture he had drawn. Adoros carefully lifted the page up with the tiger drawn on it, holding it with his off-hand while he reached over to grab his quill with his writing hand. Then, on the third sheet of his book, Adoros wrote the following sentence, clear and concise on the top of the page, answering the question Castor just had to ask. “My parents are dead, I am an orphan.” Silence from the child. Always silence from this child.

[Castor Riley]

When Castor saw the boy's affirmative response to his first question, he felt a rush go through him. He didn't know exactly what it was, but seeing someone like Adoros -- like his father -- gave him intense mixed feelings. On the one hand, the familiarity of interacting with mute people, a behavioural pattern that he was very accustomed to; on the other, the inevitable associations with the previous mute he'd known, and the suffering he'd known his father had gone through due to his state. The child, however, was better off, at least; he had the ability to move around unassisted, to live on his own strength and in the way that he desired. He wasn't confined to one small room, condemned to suffer the humiliation of requiring constant care in order to retain the most basic levels of hygiene. Unfortunately, the child's answer to his second question showed Castor that his suffering was broader than his disability. "I'm sorry to hear that, Adoros," he said, his heart sinking. "You know, I'm sort of an orphan too. Neither of my parents is around any more," he said, thoughtfully. "What I remember most about my time with my father, is reading. As a child, he'd read to me, and later, I did the same for him. Do you like reading, Adoros?" He asked finally, asking permission with his eyes and gestures to pick up Donovan's book that the boy had been reading.

[Adoros]

Oh, how many times had someone told Adoros that they were sorry for his loss, without actually knowing anything about it. It was one of those cliches statements somebody made for when the situation was ripe, like "you haven't aged a day" to a old person, or "you're getting so big" to a young child. It was almost instinct, an immediate response. The statement was never insincere, thankfully; the parents could've been abusive drunkards to the child, people the child may have wanted dead, but those people, those strangers, just wanted to be cordial. They wanted to show their remorse despite knowing nothing. On the outside, Adoros only nodded while forcing a small grin, as if letting the man know he was fine despite the loss. On the inside, his thoughts were rapid and deep, but no one needed to know. Adoros didn't mind being left alone; it was much quieter that way. Although, despite this Castor's unoriginal approach to interacting with Adoros, the young child found himself warming up to him. Maybe it was because this man knew what it was like not having parents alive in his life. This man was older than Adoros, but not substantially, so the loss of his parents was probably more severe; therefore, these two seem to connect the two more. It wasn't that Adoros wished for others to truly understand his sorrow, but it sure did make explaining the situation easier. One thing Adoros did note while the man was speaking was his mention of reading to his father. Usually, this would've been a minuscule detail, overlooked for the real meaning behind the statement. But for some reason, this detail stood out to Adoros. Here was a man who used to read to his son, now having his son read to him. Why the transition? Why could the father not read to his son until the very end, since Adoros at least knew Castor's father died. Adoros finally concluded that Castor's father had declined in health near the end, decaying in some part of his life before he finally passed away. This was all assumption, of course, and Adoros wasn't going to ask. Not now, probably not ever; this wasn't just something you ask. For now, Adoros and Castor were both going to be left alone in their respective sorrows. Thankfully, the talk moved from losses to something Adoros actually enjoyed: reading. When Castor asked the child if he liked reading, Adoros nodded with more fervent than before. If Castor was watching closer, he might notice the child perking up, his body moving closer to the table, a certain glow behind the boy's dull eyes that weren't there before. When Castor gestured towards the book, Adoros made no motion to stop him. This was what Adoros enjoyed, what he lived for. Adoros loved stories, and there was a feeling, a notion, in the back of his head that he was about to hear one, soon.

[Castor Riley]

When Castor asked the boy if he liked reading, it was immediately apparent that it was so. He nodded his head energetically, and his whole aspect seemed lit up with joy. Castor could tell, this boy loved reading. Castor smiled widely as he picked up the book. "A fellow enthusiast, I see," he said. He leafed though the pages of the book. "You know, this book you were reading is very beautifully written. The descriptions are evocative and full. There's one thing you should know about it though." He snapped the book lightly shut. "It's pure fiction." He looked into the boy's eyes. "Now, my grandfather, he actually travelled into the jungle of Falyndar and he left my father a journal with all of his experiences during that journey." He paused. "I've read that journal, and I can tell you a story from it, if you'd like me to. A story about a true Myrian tiger," as he said this Castor leaned forward, eyes glinting with the promise of excitement. "Fiction is often beautiful. Sometimes, however, the truth can be even more so. Would you like to hear that story?" Castor asked, though some doubts began to form as he remembered its contents. The encounter had hardly been one of his grandfather's best experiences in the jungle, not that he'd had many good ones. Perhaps it would have been best not to share such a tale with such a young boy. But, then again, Adoros was no stranger to the horrors of life. At least the tigers were just far away monsters, and what were monsters for if not scaring little children with?