413, Thursday evening
Karal was sitting on his bed, books and papers spread around him as he occasionally spoke into his recorder. Anyone looking in might think he was studying -- and he was, sort of, it just wasn't for school. The Writ was open under Altra's nose, and the book Dean had loaned Karal lay beside him. The other books were the diaries of past Sons of the Sun and Karal's own notebooks from years as novice, acolyte and priest.
He had a headache. So did Altra. Reading wasn't easy on either of them, but Karal owed it to Dean to find an answer to his question.
Karal sighed and rubbed his temple. "Let's look at Dean's book again," he murmured. Altra grumbled, but moved to stand over it as Karal turned the pages.
[ooc: the door is open a crack, and the post can be open, too, as long as you don't mind likely SP due to work.]
He had a headache. So did Altra. Reading wasn't easy on either of them, but Karal owed it to Dean to find an answer to his question.
Karal sighed and rubbed his temple. "Let's look at Dean's book again," he murmured. Altra grumbled, but moved to stand over it as Karal turned the pages.
[ooc: the door is open a crack, and the post can be open, too, as long as you don't mind likely SP due to work.]