Back to normal.
A man with flame-red hair sits in a window of the library, staring outside thoughtfully, a book nearly forgotten in his lap. Long fingers rest atop the page, perfectly still, not so much as ruffling the pages to break the deep silence of the room. It's a waiting sort of silence, part of his mind wonders if he ought to seek Bast out or wait for Bast to find him. The rest of his mind is as distant as his eyes, sorting through memories that lie far nearer the surface than usual. He's well aware of what's happened, his memory is so clear and sharp at the worst of times that he's likely to cut himself on it, and that carries through even events when others would remember nothing. He remembers being twelve years old again perfectly clearly. Much of what happened during that time though is fuzzier, and everything after meeting Mabon on the grounds is behind a thick haze. He thinks again that he ought to look for Bast, to reassure him that he's alright, but he doesn't move just yet. Just a few moments more, as he carefully takes the memories and packs them away again in his mind, always there but no longer at the front of his thoughts. Not forgotten, but dealt with. He moves finally, the sound of the book closing loud in the encompassing quiet, but lingers just a moment longer. It's peaceful here.