*Fennec*
By the time the meeting draws to a close, I feel like jumping out the library window and running into the street, screaming. I'm an i***t who will never be able to manage my own pack because I can’t bear thinking or talking about numbers. As beta Reede drones on, my entire body tenses with the fervent wish to get the hell out of the library.
So it’s Poppy… Poppy, whom I betrayed… who spends two hours going over figures, coming up with idea after idea to repair our finances. At one point, I sit down at the table again, but the numbers flow past me as relentlessly as when I pace the room.
It’s not that I can’t do mathematics or accounting; I learned both in school. But my concentration constantly slips in the face of such calculations, and I find myself thinking not about selling
