Through the everlasting smell of seawater and salt that permeates the territory of the Typhoon in its entirety, Paola tastes a trace amount of churned soil, the notes catching between her teeth and lingering on her gums. Any other day, the young she-cat might have ignored the smell in favor of something to do, but given the fact that she has absolutely nothing to do, she decides instead to follow the source of the upturned earth, hoping that maybe it could lead her to something interesting—like someone digging for buried treasure, perhaps. The Typhoon is a group notorious for its pirates, is it not? Perhaps there is more to the rumor than she had initially thought.
She's surprised when the trail of scent leads her closer to the shore, towards the huts that litter the sand that she may or may not have peered through during her solo tour. Buried treasure it is not, it seems, but Paola is nonetheless as curious as she had been before, and she finds herself walking and walking and walking until she comes across a small group of creatures huddled around a garden.
"Good morning," Paola offers to everyone, flashing a brief smile before getting distracted, once again, by the plants. Specifically, a vibrant bloom catches her attention, and she finds her pale eyes drawn to the splash of color. "Hi, sorry—what are those called?" The young she-cat uses her long tail to motion towards the violet plant in question, one that seems to stand out against the rest in the eyes of the newcomer. She doesn't know what it is about it; she thinks she may have seen it before, but her memories are fuzzy and drowned in storm-water and any attempt she makes to reach through the haze results in a mental pained recoil, as if the barrier had shocked her. "M'dumb with flower names."
She's surprised when the trail of scent leads her closer to the shore, towards the huts that litter the sand that she may or may not have peered through during her solo tour. Buried treasure it is not, it seems, but Paola is nonetheless as curious as she had been before, and she finds herself walking and walking and walking until she comes across a small group of creatures huddled around a garden.
"Good morning," Paola offers to everyone, flashing a brief smile before getting distracted, once again, by the plants. Specifically, a vibrant bloom catches her attention, and she finds her pale eyes drawn to the splash of color. "Hi, sorry—what are those called?" The young she-cat uses her long tail to motion towards the violet plant in question, one that seems to stand out against the rest in the eyes of the newcomer. She doesn't know what it is about it; she thinks she may have seen it before, but her memories are fuzzy and drowned in storm-water and any attempt she makes to reach through the haze results in a mental pained recoil, as if the barrier had shocked her. "M'dumb with flower names."
BABY'S GOT A FACE LIKE THUNDER: