( as ranulf crashes through the ice, soren jerks in preparation to help him. in the end, he doesn't need it. a part of him deliberates whether to help him back onto his feet or not, but that, too, seems like an unnecessary gesture. besides... he might not want him to lay a single digit on him. he wouldn't blame him for the revulsion.

soren fortifies himself for ranulf's rejection, decides for him that it is an inevitable outcome. it's a defense mechanism that he's built up his entire life: shut someone out before they have a chance to shut him out. in this case it's not quite that, but his heart is already working at freezing over into a hardness that can't be penetrated.

(that's false, too. it's already been hurt. not by anything ranulf has actually done, but preemptively by himself so that the reality of someone else's rejection won't sting.)

his reaction does nothing to reassure him, even if he's acting like his usual self. it's the uncertainty that permeates the way he regards him, the palpable shock at seeing him this way. does he really recognize him at all? why didn't he call him by his name? the dragon's anxiety climbs; he tucks his tail closer to his body and averts his blood-red eyes, so embarrassed by his helpless verbal tic that he hushes it. )

Soren. I, er... know... how unsettling I must be. But surely you've seen Monsters by now. According to this world, that is what I am. What I've become.