November 8th
The carriage bumped along down the road from Blavatsky Coven, heading for the city's center. Owen glanced out the window as the carriage passed Angus's house, feeling a little guilty. The boy felt bad for lying to Mrs. Ali, saying he was going to play over at his friend's house, but he didn't want to worry her with the truth. His hands ran through his coat pocket, feeling the folded piece of paper. Recently, he had come to the realization that it was time to get down to business and do what he came here to do in Cat's Claw.
Reaching his destination, he carefully climbed down the steps onto the soft, mushy snow. "Thanks for the ride, mister," the boy shouted, waving at the driver. Pulling the picture out, Owen made his way toward the town center. He was set on at least finding out if anyone had seen his father, maybe even running into the man if he was extremely lucky.
He got down to work, going up to anybody that he happened to come across. Most of the people told him to get lost or commented that the picture was poorly taken to even tell who that was before laughin in his face. There were a few kind people who claimed to have seen somebody that looked like the picture, but they weren't sure if he still lived in Cat's Claw. Any normal person would have given up then and there, but Owen kept pressing on, keeping the hope of seeing his father alive.
As he rounded a corner, he lost his footing and slipped on a patch of ice. The wind started to pick up, blowing the picture right out of his hands. "My picture!" he cried, scrambling to his feet. Owen raced after the floating piece of paper that weaved around the legs of pedestrians. He was within an arms reach of the photograph when another ice patch caught him off guard. Landing on his back with a thud, he slid down the side walk, coming to stop in a pile of snow. "My picture..." he groaned again, slowly sitting up. His eyes darted around, hoping to spot the photo.
