[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		  listened to the exchange…to the sounds beyond the door. His eyes narrowed slightly, he almost relaxed, but as the voice spoke and something bestial began to beat upon–and claw at–the gateway he found his grip tightening upon his weapon. The way it breathed, the thudded movements…its growls. It sounded like a beast and as its hand punched through the door Farren found that he was baring his teeth.

Some part of him wished to lurch into action, to dart forth, draw his second blade, and use the two to lop off its foul, hairy arm. Farren found himself suppressing a growl that had been building in his throat, and as he did so, he felt tension build in his head…and in his chest.

The newborn hunter gritted his teeth hard enough that it was very nearly painful, then he forced himself to relax. [color=#1A1A3B][b]“I don’t much like this,”[/b][/color] Farren said aloud–if quietly. He salivated, had to wipe his mouth on his sleeve and swallow hard. His whole body felt tense and though he tried to force himself to relax, it hardly worked at all.

He swallowed again and schooled his breathing…a technique drifting into his mind…one for remaining calm, he thought, but it felt less like his own mind and more like that of his past self stepping in to help him. He needed answers…but his body [i]craved[/i] something else.