Wearily, the youngest prince sighed. It had been a long day and it was still early afternoon. He was surprised to realize that he was emotionally worn. He had always held a tenacious grip on his emotions, so much so that people often thought him emotionless. But, such mental fancies were, of course, untrue. It was simply emotional discipline and at the moment, in order to serve his people, he needed to be of sound, undisturbed mind.

"Ream," Palm said, turning to the boy and patting his head, "before you descend these stairs, I want to make something abundantly clear; none of this was your fault. You are as much a victim of this tragedy, as the other citizens. Do not carry blame regarding this. Have I stated it so that you understand?"

A tremendous, overwhelming weight had been lifted from his being. The young watchman looked up at his prince, as pools of tears welled in his eyes. He began to cry, painfully, yet with relief. Without thinking about whom he was addressing, Ream threw his arms around the older boy and sobbed against his shoulder, pitifully.

Palm blinked his surprise. People throwing their arms around him and crying on HIS shoulder was an experience that was foreign to him. He had cried on many a shoulder when he was still a kitten, but never the other way around. For a commoner to be the first was startling and profound to him.

Unsure of what exactly to do, he thought on what he had seen others do and mimicked them as best he could. Awkwardly, he wrapped one arm around him and the other behind his head, patting him, gently.

"Cormish," Palm said, looking up at the palace messenger, "will you please take him to the palace so that he might rest? Alder has arranged to have some of the rooms set aside to accommodate survivors. The city is pandemonium, at the moment, but please inquire with Ream about family and friends of his, so that we might look out for them."

"Of course, My Prince." the man replied.

"Relay that information to Mother and Arjuna when you return from the palace. ...I say, 'return', because I imagine you have people that you wish to look for as well. Please carry out these tasks, then consider your job done for the day and feel free do as you will. Just let Mother and Arjuna know that I gave you permission to do so."

The messenger flinched and opened his mouth to reply, but choked on the words. Sadness and worry draped his face in their dismal shade. Palm smiled, faintly, at him.

"I am not like Alder and Arjuna." he said. "I am not proficient at comforting, or consoling others, so I apologize that this is all that I can do to assuage your despair."

Cormin shook his his head, adamantly. "No, you are most kind. Your consideration is of great comfort to me. Thank you, so much." he replied, bowing respectfully.

Quietly, he patted Ream's shoulder and detached him from the youngest prince. Patiently, he led the boy down the ladder of the watchtower, then headed to the palace, leaving Palm in their wake.

Palm watched them go, as a strange feeling sat in his chest. He surveyed the city, battered and broken and worse, the plethora of bodies that were strewn haphazardly about. Subconsciously, he began counting the scattered empty vessels of the dead. Even in grief, his mind demanded that it stayed active, always processing something instead of coming to a standstill, overwhelmed with feeling. That was how he thought, that was how his young mind worked.

As he looked on at the mournful devastation, something unusual, yet comically obvious caught his eye.

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