“Are you feeling alright? You don’t look it.” - talonsandleather
Fear was a mighty deterrent for a great many things. Renarin witnessed firsthand the power it had over a mind otherwise strong.
… but what damage did fear commit against a mind not made strong because of circumstance, perhaps. But… mostly because of the limitations he put on himself.
The ever quiet Renarin retained his silence, heedless to the address, caught up always in the circulation of his own thoughts. His mind was a cauldron of activity, the incessant chatter never ending. It was conjured by an outside source he didn’t understand, couldn’t grasp. Instead thinking it a deficiency he suffered. Only another one to add to the sad list growing larger the more complicated their days progressed. What horrors existed in that wire cage of his existence could be seen etched into his young face, drawn and pale with the fear it inspired.
He couldn’t have responded, even if he wished it. And he did wish it.
There were times he was stricken as he was then, sound echoing strangely in his head, eliminating the possibility of true focus. It turned his limbs heavy, grounded, an awkward bulk more hindrance than instrument to use at his command.
It was the dreams. The dreams to plague him.
He rested hunched awkwardly forward, ignorant to the discomfort such a position should have afforded him. So tired, gone, consciousness drifting out of reach until he could think no more, until the noise of his mind settled and he breathed easy. There was little evidence the prince pulled himself from the throes of his apparent unconsciousness save for the change in his breathing, that deep inhale of air outside of the mechanical rhythm his body naturally set.
Eyes finally shifted with a renewed focus, settling on the form hovering near. He didn’t recognize.
“… my guards?” He began, voice cracking, creaking as though with disuse. Words formulated but finding difficulty expressing in the way they needed to be to be understood.
