[ His ears prick forward, and he stares straight at Fiddler, still unsettled by the very prospect of what's happened. White really isn't his color. He's in hell.
He's in hell, and he doesn't know what's happening to himself, beyond the fact that his balance is off, everything is off. Blood pounds in his ears, a heartbeat pushing something he hadn't had in some time through his veins. Frustrated, he tries to speak again, an annoyed 'yes' coming through as a half-growl, half-yip. Really, Fiddler, that should be obvious, is the implication, even as his eyes narrow. ]
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He's in hell, and he doesn't know what's happening to himself, beyond the fact that his balance is off, everything is off. Blood pounds in his ears, a heartbeat pushing something he hadn't had in some time through his veins. Frustrated, he tries to speak again, an annoyed 'yes' coming through as a half-growl, half-yip. Really, Fiddler, that should be obvious, is the implication, even as his eyes narrow. ]