Anger. It burns, sears their bond. Ignites it with a heat that makes his tail curl and his ears fold. It's the kind of anger that Ranulf can embrace, the kind that he understands the best. Of being scorned, of mistrust, of being deceived--- naturally or otherwise. It makes his fur itch and he likes it. It makes his blood boil, bringing him back to something more comfortable and familiar. Just like Soren. He too doesn't remember that night very well, of where the scent of blood and death and decay still sits on his senses as a reminder to what must've happened when everything went dark.

What he does remember... is the warmth. The feeling of being held. Protected. He wouldn't have been able to rest if he wasn't absolutely sure that he was safe. The roars were softer, the sounds of walls being smashed and doors being broken down. But he knew... he knew in his heart that he wouldn't see any further injuries. No further pain.

That brought him sleep. Not good sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

Ranulf leans forward now, closes that distance again. Their hips bump as he reaches to place his hand over Soren's. How much he wants to continue that touch, continue to reinforce those feelings... to make sure they're still there. To make sure that they haven't gone anywhere and are still valid. Physical gestures that enable them both, to give them strength.

To feel that heartbeat beat with his own.

"... let's make sure we never forget what happened here. Let's come here... maybe once every couple of weeks. Not for long, but so that we can walk around and make sure... together."