I'M TIRED OF CRYING ☆ reading class

[MIAMIHORROR]

The forest here is unlike any Miami has known before. It's labyrinthine and caliginous and hot in a way that seems to weigh in his lungs and cling stickily to his thick cream fur even on the mildest of summer days. He's had many homes over the years, though he hardly considers any of them to be more than a temporary stop during his travels. The male expects the same from this place, though truth be told his interest in getting to know any of his clanmates or the issues that plague them has been relatively low to begin with. Miami has stayed from the limelight thus far, lurking through the swamp and gathering his bearings and hardly paying any attention to much else. What draws him to this gathering in particular is but a mere flicker of curiosity and nothing more — his thoughts move at the same pace as it footfalls, carrying him forth in simply another bout of restless boredom from one place to the next. As he pads towards the small group with a sharp glean deep within his cool copper gaze, he knows that this is only a distraction, a way to meaninglessly pass the time, and the canine finds he hardly minds.

His eyes drift slowly towards the books, one brow quirking as the other furrows. The wolf knows of novels, and he knows of reading and writing and how all these clan animals think themselves so proper as to learn human methods of communication, but he has no personal experience or education with anything of the sort. Really, he hardly has any desire for it, either. He thinks there are more useful skills to be honing than learning how to daintily turn a page with claws that are designed for tearing flesh. Miami comes to a plodding halt and juts his head in the direction of the upturned books. "What the hell 'm I supposed to do with one of those? Wipe my ass with it?" The words are spoken abruptly and with deadpan seriousness — until he gives a twitch of an ear and a faint smirk finally materializes on the wolf's maw. He snorts and then flops down onto the ground, dust gathering in the air in his wake. There's the faint scent of cigarettes and something wild, like blood sizzling with electricity and crackling fires that clings to his pelt and is thrown into the wind as he seats himself. Miamihorror's gaze passes lazily over the creatures before him, lingering with faint interest on a bird who these creatures appear to refuse to treat his prey. He runs his tongue over his lips, lingering on knife-sharp canines before returning his attention to the lion who is supposedly running this show. "Whatever. Can't hurt to listen, 'guess."