ELEANOR SINCLAIR
The one thing I would find out quickly was that if this old man's home was the beginning of a path for me, then I could have as well said it was beginning with dogs. He had enough of them rushing towards us, and two of them bounced around me. I was not the best person with dogs I didn't know, but none seemed intent on harming me, so I tolerated them.
"Come in, Eleanor," he called to me, and I followed him as he entered the house and sat down in it, plopping in the chair. I sat in the one opposite him, my mind aware that I was in a different house from everything I knew. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and dog fur-I even thought I could see the fur moving about in the air, and the furniture looked like it had been collected over decades, and with a kind of worn d
