A rabbit (or rabbit-like creature) named Rabbit is... terribly him. He never has been very creative. Pragmatic and inventive when necessary, but not creative in the slightest. He flips through the pages -- another sketch of him, more of Rabbit, some buildings and figures he doesn't recognize, and then one he does. It's here, the Anchor, right where he arrived. As someone who keeps a lot of notes, he can fully appreciate the dedication with which she has recorded the events in her life -- the places she's been, the people she's met.
It's still uncomfortable, but it's acceptable, for now. He was elsewhere; he was happy. He was alive. He fails to remember it, and he doesn't know why.
And look at him now.
His bitterness burns in his chest, so acidic that he can feel it; his fingers tighten on the sketchbook, and he hands it back, so sure he'll crumple the pages if he grips it any tighter. It's a good thing he did, as the floor beneath him discolors, its strength sapped from it as he crosses his arms.
"It... is a lot to take in," he admits. "Worst is that I cannot recall any of this. Not you, not the city." He grips at his sleeve, fighting his nerves, his teeth grinding. "I purposely lived a hollow life in repentance for my continued existence. Is this why the people of Bear Den suffered? Did I truly have so much, only to lose it all, and not even remember I had it in the first place?"
His voices grates, harsher as the glow in his eyes intensifies; the discoloration beneath him spreads further as he struggles with his temper, his entire frame trembling. He already lost his family, his home, and himself. Finding out there was potentially more breaks him. "What else can be taken from me?!"
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It's still uncomfortable, but it's acceptable, for now. He was elsewhere; he was happy. He was alive. He fails to remember it, and he doesn't know why.
And look at him now.
His bitterness burns in his chest, so acidic that he can feel it; his fingers tighten on the sketchbook, and he hands it back, so sure he'll crumple the pages if he grips it any tighter. It's a good thing he did, as the floor beneath him discolors, its strength sapped from it as he crosses his arms.
"It... is a lot to take in," he admits. "Worst is that I cannot recall any of this. Not you, not the city." He grips at his sleeve, fighting his nerves, his teeth grinding. "I purposely lived a hollow life in repentance for my continued existence. Is this why the people of Bear Den suffered? Did I truly have so much, only to lose it all, and not even remember I had it in the first place?"
His voices grates, harsher as the glow in his eyes intensifies; the discoloration beneath him spreads further as he struggles with his temper, his entire frame trembling. He already lost his family, his home, and himself. Finding out there was potentially more breaks him. "What else can be taken from me?!"