With more than a touch of wishful thinking, you admit, you elect to weather the noise and adopt a stoic air for your mutual benefit.
You make every effort, but simply haven't the temperament to endure such an uproar for so long. Your nerves fray the longer it continues, and you grapple with a healthy portion of self-doubt. [-Surety]
But, wonder of wonders, some hours later you realize that your ears are no longer ringing, and your heart no longer pounding quite so heavily. The little ape is lying on its side, chest rising and falling rhythmically in sleep. Good grief, it worked, you think.
"There you are, little one," you whisper.
It harrumphs in its sleep—coincidence, to be sure, though it's a distinct possibility that the ape is offended that you were so callous. [-Brute] 'Tis my cross to bear, you think wryly, leaning back against the cart rail and closing your own eyes at last.
Onward And Onward And Onward