Henri had learned from necessity to be an early riser. Before, long ago when he was still with his family, his spoke and kint, it was only with great prodding and nagging that he would drag himself upright before noon. But the old saw 'the early whice gets it's mice' had never proved itself to be more true than since he started living, dusting about on his own- and food doesn't always grow on trees. Morning people, those plum moony folk, always tended to be the more cheerful- and thus loose with the ging for a happy song and Non-morning people usually could appreciate the pick-me-up, if they weren't so far gone in their glaring gloom to care.

So Henri rose just after the morning light hit his face- although that doesn't mean he had to like it. Twisting about in his cot, the wick tried to hide from the light, dragging his meager blanket up over his face as if by not seeing he could push the sun back just a little bit.

No good, pulling the blanket up just left his feet exposed to the cold air. He tried again, rolling onto his stomach, and hiding his face in the hard cotton-wool pillow that smelled strongly of wet animal- but that didn't work either as his traitorous insides gave a rumble, demanding he wake and break his fast. With a fretful groan Henri gave up the daily battle against waking, and sat up, stretching and rubbing his face as he blinked balefully at the growing light pouring in from his gray smudged window before swinging his feet to the floor-

“Clocks,” Henri hissed the curse reflexively at the sharp pain of his stubbed toes, his feet hitting the floor before he was expecting. Rubbing the wounded appendage with half a mind to the task, the other hand reached and fumbled for his satchel and boots- his eyes closed to the task as he yawned.

Something wasn't right. Having shrugged into his overlarge shirt with no problem, his vest was proving to be more difficult than it should be. Opening a bleary eye, Henri looked to see if he'd put the thing on upside-down or backwards again.

No... how strange. His vest was on exactly as it should be, but for some reason it was not closing around his chest- it was less than an inch away, but it would not close, the buttons being too far apart. Both eyes open at this puzzling sight, he checked again- on it was on right, collar at the top and all. Why was it suddenly too small? Did it shrink? Well... it had been raining a lot, maybe it had dried funny and that was why it was shorter today. The thought didn't quite ring true, however, as he'd had this vest for a couple years now and the rain had never made it shrink before... but it was good enough for him during this early house of the day and he continued getting dressed.

His next inclination that today was not going to be a good day at all was when he tried to put on his boots. They were good boots, they'd been broken in to his foot nicely for some time now and it had a nice little heel on it- giving him that extra height to break the five foot mark, but for some reason this morning he could not squeeze his foot all the way in.

Twisting, stomping and carrying on, he struggled with the stubborn shoe until a pounding from the wall said he'd awakened his neighbor (who didn't sound like a morning person at all), and sitting back on his cot with a thump, he contemplated his predicament with obvious bafflement on his face.

The shoe was the right shoe for the right foot. The same old, careworn boot he'd always warn with the little loose flap in the back where the leather had come loose from the heel and where the seam had split from scuffing his toe when he walked. And it didn't fit anymore. It couldn't be his feet... he hadn't grown more than an inch for years now- it had to be something wrong with the boot. Could it have shrunk too? He didn't think leather shrank like that, but then, he didn't think his vest would shrink either.

Henri shrugged and put the boots into his sack, “Must of been some moony rain last night.”

Swinging his sack to his shoulder and grabbing his fiddle case too, the wick padded out bare foot from his cot-turned-room and checked out of the shack-turned-inn with the old man who ran the place. A nameless kind of fellow, the only interesting thing about him being his supreme girth and his meaty-eagle eyes that watched with a glazed vulture like hunger as the wick counted out the coins for the room and Henri gladly left the equally nameless seedy-inn and into the rain-cleaned streets of Old Rose.

Breakfast was first on the menu, and then he'd see about playing up enough ging for a new pair of boots- if his pair didn't stretch themselves back out in the meantime.

Adelle was definitely a morning person. She would wake up if the sun came up at 4 O' clock in the morning. She was the type of little girl that wakes up really early and, try as she may, cannot seem to stay up too awful late.

Today was one of her days. One of the days where she would jump from being asleep, to running in circles with Chase until she was out of breath. One of the days where she was always excited, and always ready to jump around.

And that's exactly what she did.

Her eyes had shot open early that morning, even before the sun was fully up and out of bed itself. All morning since she'd gotten up, she'd been running around her favorite apple tree. She would jump and climb for the apples, she would tag Chace and run from him while he chased her.

Never, not once, did she understand why people always looked so sad, or mad, or grumpy or sluggish in the morning. She loved everything about the morning. She loved the way the dew was still on the grass, tickling her bare feet as she ran, she loved the way the birds sang in the morning, but most of all, she loved that it was never quite as hot in the morning.

After chasing Chace and eating apples, she decided to go to town. Old Rose was beautiful...In it's own grimy way. The only thing about morning in Old Rose was just that; it was wet and muddy and gross. The people were unhappy and sluggish until noon, unless something good happened.

She loved the Rose, but some times more than others.