Fear's hand pressed heavily against his chest as he felt the dog moving, forcing a rush of air out and letting nothing back in until he was dizzy with it. But beyond the warning she offered him, the beast, small next to him though she might seem, did nothing else to evoke such emotions. No movement helped calm his racing heart, but when she proved to him she had no intention to injure, and did not believe he trespassed, time let it slow a little. And eventually fear let up her pressure on his ribcage, though even as he managed a breath he found it stuttering, uncertain. Painfully slow. 

He could hear the squeaks of little ones, and understood only that he was lying next to a dog and her pups. At the very least, he was not between them. But he had never known any other creature to allow a troll so near their young. Trolls, after all, ate meat. Two more shuddering breaths, and his shaking fists were already tired. Three, and his body couldn't hold onto the adrenaline. But that didn't mean exhaustion swept aside the fear, it simply resigned him to it. Fight or flight, but he hadn't the strength for either, so let it come. Wilhelm settled slowly, staring at the ceiling, picking out the shapes there. Blurred and safely immobile. There were no dogs or pups or dangerous mothers to see above him. Nothing but a concept of weight support he'd never seen before. Trees, after all, supported their own weight or fell. There were few other options when their wood was nearly impervious to all save time. Those who lived in houses built theirs of dirt and stone, and let the grasses grow above them. They built them well, though too small for a curious adolescent to stand in. Trust this journey to have found him too many new things to understand. 

He concentrated as much as he could on the coalescing colours and textures until he could see that he was looking at dry plants. He did not imagine they'd been growing upside down when they died, but it nonetheless amused him to think so. A better distraction, certainly, than looking at hanging bunches. Especially when he hadn't the perception, beneath his nictitating membranes, to see details well enough to identify them. Had they been only a little less clear, he wouldn't even have been certain they were plants. Fuzzy stalactites, perhaps. With nothing else to look at, he was grateful when Hap returned from wherever he had been and began what looked like a very simple routine. Routine was good, in the face of so much strangeness, to know that life would move on as it always had was comforting. Not to recognise that routine was less so, but Wilhelm would take what he was offered. Certainly, the little one might well not have been up to some of the routines a troll went through daily. It was, for the most part, a matter of perspective. The stool looked small, when he turned his head carefully to eye something that was neither Krell nor ceiling plants. Trolls did not ordinarily climb small things. It was a waste of effort and balance. On the other hand, the stool rose to just under Hap's knees when it was set on the floor. Had he something similar in proportion. perhaps it would not have seemed so small. Then again, Wilhelm could have reached the plants merely by sitting up. Had he been capable of sitting...

He drifted in and out of paying attention as Hap worked, and was just beginning to doze off again when speech brought his mind back to the surface of wakefulness. His ears twitched and he squinted at the little creature. A grunt was all that escaped him at first as he was reminded of his discomfort. Thawing was not a pretty business, his skin was swollen and itchy, his feet were beginning to burn. And all the little scrapes and scratches he'd earned walking through the Jasper Tree Forest without caring about the trees, which had, many of them, been roughly his own height, were creeping across what few nerves were still unfrozen, an unpleasantly sharp tickle that made his shoulders twitch. He frowned at Hap when the lightkeeper chose to steal his only answer. Well enough had been crawling up his throat, and now it was stuck there. His own weight heavy enough to make him question the strength remaining to his muscles. He did not know if he [i]could[/i] sit up. He had forgotten about the food. Or not even realised it was there. 

His frown turned into a grimace after a moment's brief struggle with his instinct, and he gave himself permission to fail once, and only once, before admitting his weakness. He liked neither option, but if he did not even try, he would not be able to say he couldn't. It was not a matter of pride, but of truth. HIs muscles tensed and he forced his back slowly off the ground, shaking violently before he could move an arm beneath him. With an elbow for support, he could just keep himself there, but rising any farther was beyond him.

"This is as far as I go, little one." The words grated from a dry throat and he winced. He could not even spare one arm to reach for the bowl. [i]This[/i], however, was a matter of pride. He had no desire to be fed. So he tried despite himself, reaching for the bowl. His supporting arm gave before his hand had made it halfway, and he slumped back against the furs. With a breath, he went back to staring at the hanging plants, waiting, with a patience he'd had to learn, for the strength to come back to him. Weak as he was, he could not even be certain it would.