Stirring from your slumber, you knit your brows together with a faint murmur. You shifted to your side and peer through tired lashes, nearly having the fright of your life as you were met by the ominous image of Prince Daeron lurking at your bedside during the hour of the owl. His visage vaguely bathed in the dim glow of a nearby brazier, gazing blankly to you. Jolting into a sitting position, you soon came to realization that the Prince was simply sleepwalking. A common occurrence with him.