[He feels very sickly, his stomach twisting up in knots, and his face has drained of some color as he steps out of the room and into the forgiving silence of the next. His hands shake as he twists them in the fabric of his robes. Until they hurt. It's better than letting himself fall far into this blooming panic. He, too, feels trapped — but by memories that may chase him, than by the room itself.
He has tried to be strong, but right now, he just—]
I want to go home.
[It's a brittle and sad little comment, and he feels regretful the moment it pathetically leaves his lips; he was supposed to have become stronger, more rigid, more capable of facing the real and dangerous world. But Cathal, Rua, and Ciarán are dead. His friend the Mute likely is, too. He's far from home, and likely a new enemy of the Normans — the Church.
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He has tried to be strong, but right now, he just—]
I want to go home.
[It's a brittle and sad little comment, and he feels regretful the moment it pathetically leaves his lips; he was supposed to have become stronger, more rigid, more capable of facing the real and dangerous world. But Cathal, Rua, and Ciarán are dead. His friend the Mute likely is, too. He's far from home, and likely a new enemy of the Normans — the Church.
He wants the monastery.]