[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    regretted it immediately, regretted finding the courage to act, regretted choosing to fire his pistol–quicksilver bullets or not–and most greatly he regretted ever bringing the case into the Hunter’s Dream.

As the searing, cringing terror of frenzy thrummed through him, Farren realized one thing.

It hadn’t started until the thing’s gaze had fixed upon him. He knew not if it were its eyes or the peeling shriek that it had unleashed, but either way, avoiding one would have to do. Farren lunged towards the nearest cover, a look of frantic terror that was quite unlike him plastered across his face.

Not a graceful motion, not even the swift blur of a quickstep, just a lunging–almost tackling–motion that would probably bring him into a somersaulting roll to get behind [i]anything…anything at all[/i] that might obscure the abomination’s ire. If it were the shrieking, of course, it would do nothing and he’d be even further from dealing a killing blow upon it.

Not that he had much hope of that.