More difficult to describe, for one, to someone who isn't a Warden. The way it pulls and twists at your blood; the ringing in your ears that isn't a song yet, not quite. The utter sense of knowing, like you're about to see your kin, and the way that confers its own sort of nausea until you finally grow used to it.
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More difficult to describe, for one, to someone who isn't a Warden. The way it pulls and twists at your blood; the ringing in your ears that isn't a song yet, not quite. The utter sense of knowing, like you're about to see your kin, and the way that confers its own sort of nausea until you finally grow used to it.
"It wasn't that."