The Art of Keeping Oneself Dry
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Her soft footfalls went almost unheard to his pointed ears; she moved with obviously feline grace as she sprinted by him, tail twitching merrily, fiery red hair quivering in the wind.

He smiled, stood up straight and waved happily to the familiar Mithra warrior. “Hey there!”

Without breaking stride, she cocked her head around and waved back, her smile only briefly visible as she sped away from the market area.

The Tarutaru leaned back against the curiously man-sized urn behind him. He waited a full minute before rapping his tiny knuckles on its porcelain surface. “She’s gone, it’s safey-wafey now!”

The urn rattled and its lid popped up, just enough for a pair of eyes to poke through the crack. “You sure?” asked the unsteady voice of a male Hume.

“Just get outaru already!”

The lid was shoved off from within, and a brown-haired man slowly climbed out of the cramped container. “Thanks,” he sighed. “Sorry about that.”

“What was that about, anyway?” the Tarutaru asked. “I thought you two were friends.”

The Hume dusted himself off, then turned to his tiny benefactor. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I like her and all, but, uh… well, it’s a long story.”

“I don’t understand…”

He gave a wary glance towards the nearby fountain. “Let’s just say leather doesn’t dry quick.”