Finally, the Cynn found a coffee shop and sat himself down in a window seat with a pot of tea. The afternoon wore on as he sat reading and taking notes in a slanted, nearly unreadable cursive hand. By the time the sun had started to go down, he was still there--because he'd dozed off with his notebook open in front of him, and the book he'd been reading from resting on his chest.
The receptionist at the Society was a small long-eared scarlet-skinned person with a thick dragon-ish tail and hands that were more like paws than anything else. She told Hawk cheerfully that they could always us help giving out their donations, and then helped Hawk get through the paperwork needed to become a volunteer, reading him relevant bits.
He spent the rest of the afternoon in the company of a large, hunched, vaguely turtle-faced creature with mottled brown skin, loading and unloading a white pickup truck with cardboard boxes, delivering those boxes again, and then picking up more donations. As dusk began to fall, the truck bed was halfway full again with a stack of boxes, and the other half was taken up by the turtle creature, who wouldn't fit in the cab of the truck. Hawk parted ways with them then, waving as he did.