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Did wild know he was being unreasonable? Yes. Did he care? No. Because he’s hauled up in this dark cave, buried in a mountain of blankets, unable to go outside and see the sun. It had been a week. One long, lonely week. And he was so deprived, and so desperate, and so depressed. He could hear the rain pounding on the cave, just like how he could hear the murmuring of talking and arguing from the other room. He could feel the thousands of tiny delicate braided flowers and vines in his thousand of mini braids that he had put into his hair. It was the only thing he was allowed to do, and it was better than picking his skin. He couldn’t do anything else, because of how bad his hand tremors were. And he couldn’t sleep, because sleep came with nightmares and Twilight was the only one who could fix that. But Twilight wasn’t allowed to see him. Because the chain was worried that if he did, he would never leave. And to be honest? If Twi did come, he wouldn’t want him to leave. So he purposely takes four steps past his pile of blankets and pulls his wounds daily to make Warriors and Hyrule angry, because he wants his mother wolf. But now he had no strength, so he sits in his cave, slowly rotting away, blindly making more braids. Constant rain, meaning he can not go outside. Constant pain, restricting his movements. He was shot off a cliff, and fell to the rocks below, just to discover Mipha was still waiting for him. And that hurt worse then the wounds he was still suffering after four red potions and a fairy. Braid, after braid, memory, after memory, thought, after thought, 7 visits from 7 of his people yet he only wanted the one they wouldn’t allow. He wouldn’t be surprised if after this his eyes were bloodshot. He couldn’t move, so he’d been refusing meals, causing his hands to shake. And now Hyrule silently sat next to him, bowl of food in his hands. Wild couldn’t care less, he was too numb to listen, so he blurred out the words whispered to him, and rejected the warm spoon against his lips. And as Hyrule went to leave, a large and disheveled figure came to stand in the doorway, holding a waterskin and a very familiar pelt. And for the first time in seven days, wild dropped the braid he was working on. “twi?” his words come out in a croak. “I’m here.” his words whisper back, soothing, but broken and filled with sadness. His hands are place to the side as he’s pulled into strong arms, warm hands wrapping the pelt around his shoulders. For the first time in two days, he allows himself to be fed. He allows himself to relax. He allows himself to slip. He allows the darkness he feared so much, to take hold of him. Because as long as his mother was holding him, he was safe. And no monster would ever get him.