two weeks - ivan

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pixel by tricky

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[div style="width: 300px; max-height: 100px; height: overflow; overflow: scroll; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -5px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; color: #152232; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: justify;"]He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.

— Бра́тья Карама́зовы

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Ivan's large ears pulled back against his head, suddenly put on the spot. His claws nicked the floor as he unconsciously unsheathed and sheathed them. He padded forward, drawn by his own curiosity, but he noticeably trembled over looking good in his father's eyes. The young cat raised himself on his haunches and scanned his eyes across the bookspines, only gathering bits and pieces of what he was seeing. His memory was somewhat photographic, and he could usually memorize the scrawled lettering to mean something whenever someone read in front of him.

Ivan reached forward to touch his pawpad to a slimmer book and trailed it across the others, his seafoam eyes squeezed shut. His heart pounded against his fragile ribcage as he wondered when to stop. He didn't like to believe in fate, but for one millisecond of a lifetime, he wondered if something perfect would happen. "Yes," He answered finally, opening his eyes. He paused to sneeze as he withdrew his paw. "I'd like to help. Which ones where you thinking of?"