The Tangle Where we drift and call it dreaming

The reminder of the Sound's current status made him grind his jaws together with a narrow look at the ground. Maybe no one else could feel the frustration that he felt about it—imagine finding something from your childhood only to have it snatched out of your hands. Considering Ephraim remembered very little from before the storm that led him to Drageda, it was like losing something sacred. Of course his attachment was only superficial and fueled by nostalgia, but it was enough to make him angry about Eurycrates' army setting up shop there.

I lived there when I was little, I think, he said, slipping back into the common language as they prowled along, and he had mostly forgotten how cold the ground was now. I don't know how long or when but I remember a pool in a cave and Tux and I found it there. His eyes veritably blazed. How could they take something so precious as a memory from him? It wasn't fair!

I hate them, he vehemently seethed. Only after Blixen reminded him of the ice did he notice its cold sting on his feet again and he sighed, tossing back his ears. Is it that obvious?