Something begins to creep its way up his spine the moment he steps in the door, and he's not sure if it's leftover from the blistering cold outside or if his senses have picked up on something else, but he doesn't have time to stand and figure it out. The book shop offers a reprieve from the biting wind and the low temperatures, and even as he wanders through the shelves, he flexes his fingers, trying to will some warmth back into them.
But the feeing persists, the nagging warning in the back of his head. The Peter Tingle, May called it. But he can't think of May right now, can't think of home. Not when he catches movement in his periphery. He whirls on one foot, the book still raised in one hand, though what it will do in an actual fight, he doesn't know.
It's difficult to hide the relief in his expression when he sees a real person for the first time. Slowly, in an attempt to make peace, he lowers the book to an empty space on a shelf beside him.
"You startled me," he breathes out a nervous laugh, but stays wary himself, keeping a fair distance from her. "Are you from here? I just woke up in the forest, and I swear I saw more people in here through the windows..."
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But the feeing persists, the nagging warning in the back of his head. The Peter Tingle, May called it. But he can't think of May right now, can't think of home. Not when he catches movement in his periphery. He whirls on one foot, the book still raised in one hand, though what it will do in an actual fight, he doesn't know.
It's difficult to hide the relief in his expression when he sees a real person for the first time. Slowly, in an attempt to make peace, he lowers the book to an empty space on a shelf beside him.
"You startled me," he breathes out a nervous laugh, but stays wary himself, keeping a fair distance from her. "Are you from here? I just woke up in the forest, and I swear I saw more people in here through the windows..."