he pushed himself slowly to his feet, and began backing away. Suddenly the Book morphed into the Beast and rose, and rose, and rose until it towered over us, eclipsing the sky. Barrons turned then, and ran. The pain was back, crushing, crucifying. The night turned cold and life-sucking, and the wind returned, screaming with the voices of the unavenged dead. I felt myself scooped up. I flung my arms around Barrons’ neck and held on as he ran.
