[It's as thought their states of late have been flipped, and Kratos feels more alone than ever. Having been in a skirmish brings to mind all the things he no longer has, the duties he can no longer fulfill; he dreams of battles and glory and swordplay in fashions that leave his cheeks wet when he wakens.

[He dreams of Vanaheim, but not as it was; just those days of fighting to defend it, and yet never the end. Nothing that would wake him in the night sobbing for the pain of it.

[... Not more than once or twice, anyway. Kratos bears it silently and asks for nothing from Yuan. He has earned this, just for being himself. There is nothing else he could have done. If he reminds himself of that, that the alternative is to bear the deaths of his fellows, his sister's soldiers -- it's. Almost enough.

[Kratos obeys orders without a word, with lowered head; any remarks or caustic words directed his way, he ignores. There are -- one or two who feel the need to punctuate their words with shoves, but he ignores these also. When he can, he turns to in the laundry or the kitchen. When he cannot, he makes himself small in Yuan's tent, something which is hopefully less of an invasion to Yuan's space.]