A quiet prickle ghosted down the back of Qebhet's neck as she listened to the description. Not a warning sensation, not alarming, just... for a blink of a moment, the strange feeling of being observed.
Dog-starved. It could well be. For every dream that held mysteries and portents, there were countless more than contained simple oddities.
Still... Genesis had no idea she worked in the house of the Jackal, and yet she dreamed of him.
"That doesn't sound crazy at all," Qebhet said honestly. She didn't know what it was. But she liked that Genesis was drawn to the jackal.
The stairs led them down to a large basement store, a cavernous space made cosy by the rows upon rows of mismatched shelves, all packed with books of every kind and in every state of wear. Armchairs were wedged into odd corners, ostensibly for reading, though often commandeered by one of the two elderly cats that held court down here. Qebhet had even seen the shade of a third cat drowsing happily on the back of a well-clawed chair.
The small cafe lay off to the right side of the entrance, its walls lined with yet more books, these ones artfully arranged by colour.