Rowan wasn't in danger of losing himself the way Wren too often did, but he had a taste of what it must feel like now that he'd taken so much of the energy of the shrine into himself.
Some days he knew exactly how many mornings it had been since he'd begun the slow work of setting Wren free. Some days it was blurry, and he was certain time hadn't moved at all.
Either way, it was taking much too long.
Wren himself was still asleep, which might have alarmed Rowan, but who knew what the slumber felt like to the man who'd finally surrendered to it after fighting against himself for so long. It could have been days, but it just as easily could have been minutes.
Instead of worrying about it, Rowan decided to accept it for the gift it was. A sleeping Wren meant a peaceful Wren, and a peaceful Wren stayed exactly where Rowan put him, no cajoling or discussions about how Rowan had magically imprisoned him in the garden for his own well-being necessary.
