[ The last thing he yearns to do, upon clawing his way forth from a dream of endings and apologies, is hear the dry tone of some other soul asking him a question clearly meant to stoke his ire. A difficult sleep? It was the worst, thanks. If this slouching fellow had gone through anything akin to what Set had just, then his rhetorical question is just --

Infuriating.

Steadily, he begins to scrub dirt from his arms, swiping at it with rough strokes of his bare palms; it's a process, especially because there is no place here to truly begin to strip himself clean. At the least, he exits the ground intact and fully dressed - although, to some, what he wears may still be, ah, risqué? Unclean, but clothed. And wrathful as anyone ought to be. ]

Oh, no. [ He drawls, bitingly: ] It was the best rest of my existence. Can't you tell? I sleep excellent while dreaming of my world's undoing.