Nothing can come close

The prince hadn't slept but a mere pawful of hours since learning his father would never again return. How could he? Plague's sleeping place had been the expanse of his father's back, resting his hindquarters on his mother as Archon held her close. The cadence of his father's strong heartbeat and steady rise and fall of his breathing had been they boy's lullaby. His father's body heat had been a blanket of security that lulled him to sleep. Without any of that, no security or heartbeat, there was no hope of sleep until he simply couldn't keep his eyes open. Then he would crash and sleep for a couple of hours -where ever he happened to fall- and there was no hope of rousing him.

Sure, his mother tried to be all of that and more, but she lacked the great solidarity of Archon, there was a softness in her frame that Plague found...uncomfortable to sleep on - not to mention his sisters didn't appreciate having their brother's butt resting on them. His nights were filled with trying new positions and resting places, all in vain. It was to the point that Plague began to wonder if he would ever sleep again, or maybe the fallen god would take mercy on the prince and give his father back to him. The dark deity was not known for his mercy, and Plague felt he was weakened for wanting such things as the dead to spring to life, but he couldn't bring himself out of it.

He was at a low spot for his energy levels, staring blankly at a sigil scratched into the ground by Tox. It was their father's this time, and with a whimper, Plague felt himself curling over the lines and allowing tears to fall down his face. With his eyes closing, Plague drifted to sleep curled on top of the sigil of Archon, carved into the ground by his sister. She wasn't aware just how much the familiar lines aided her brother, but he tried to always find one to sleep on. Somehow, he could pretend he slept on his father's back again, and if he focused really hard he could almost hear that strong heartbeat in his ears. Within seconds, the boy crashed into a dreamless sleep, his cheeks wet and tear marks staining the red dirt where his father's sigil had been carved.