He was afraid Initiate would go off the deep end and wake up murderous. He'd seen trolls who felt threatened attack first thing upon reaching consciousness. Psii really did not want to die a stupid death because of that. He jumped at the "sir," almost looking around to see if a highblood had suddenly appeared behind him. But the only highblood was right here lying breathing raggedly on the floor as he was stitched up.

An Avox would call people "sir," if they could speak.

He squeezed Initiate's arm tighter, his claws denting cold skin. Avoxing turned Psii's stomach, put him in mind of the deeply-ingrained fearmongering that kept every Alternian slave in line. He'd also heard whispers about helmstroll installation, forcibly harnessing psychic minds like his that would otherwise threaten the highblood regime. Avoxing tugged on the threads of Psii's anxiety and panic. No, no, no, not again. He would not allow anyone to bear the fear and oppression he once did, the clawing hole with no apparent way out. He regretted not being able to help every fellow slave. He was one of the lucky ones to escape, and he didn't deserve it.

"Hey. Hey. Thay your name. Count numberth. You can't get lotht in daymareth. You're thuppothed to be Kankri'th moirail, not thome crazy freakshow. Get it together." His voice shook, despite his efforts to steady himself. "You can't afford to lothe your shit, not now."