The book ask thing for DA listen I'm in Iceland I can't make the picture
I’M AN OPEN BOOK // accepting — Being a Beast by Charles Foster
Back in the cottage, [ he ] went in despair and disgust through the notebooks. One after the other, the Avaar-blooded Warden poured over each page as if none of it had made any sense. He had read each and every single line over and over again over the years, over time compiling his findings conducted under the radar. Yet now here he stood in rising frustration and flaring ire as his muscled tensed. Something was off; something was amiss. For the first time, everything he came to understand began to fall apart at the seams and he was at a loss how to piece it back together again.
Gone was the stoic warrior in these moments, replaced instead by a shadow--a fraction of what he was. Frantic eyes flitted across the flawed, wooden table top, calloused palms running over loose sheets and open books. The world shook beneath his feet as if the ground itself would open then and there to swallow him whole--to return him into the depths of that literal hell to succumb to a curse he all but accepted for no benefit of his own.
He spun then, hauntingly pale hues pressed upon the other who occupied open space just beyond the walls of the abandoned cabin, eyes narrowing as if in suspicion. Or perhaps consideration. Was he not touched by the same ichor that ran through his own veins? He could sense it, but what it was, he had no answer for. An extended hand, yes perhaps, but to what means? This was not an animal crazed by a maddening song, but of something else entirely.
Kell knelt then, arm extended to press a palm against the top of Hafter’s head as he too, slunk forward in curiosity, though evidently much less curious of the invasive canine that wandered on its own through the woods of the Hinterlands. There was a connection, he knew. There must have been, and he would find it before the music in his ears drove him mad.
