[He's moving on from the "we", not acknowledging it. Perhaps he never will. Emotions are indeed something not nicely laid out on a table to examine, but a gnarled barbed wire mess. He's circled it, of course, indulging in ever deeper layers of guilt and regret and sorrow amongst the ever-persistent anger, but never has gone deeper into the woods, so to say.]
[Ironic for a guide, he thinks.]
[He glances over with a flit of vibrant red eyes, before closing them. Another sigh. It would be nice to fall asleep here, he thinks, among the flowers. But he can never let himself do that. Not when his heart still beats.]
[Perhaps that's the same for Lobelia, too, on his new-found path. Whatever that path seems to be.]
no subject
[He's moving on from the "we", not acknowledging it. Perhaps he never will. Emotions are indeed something not nicely laid out on a table to examine, but a gnarled barbed wire mess. He's circled it, of course, indulging in ever deeper layers of guilt and regret and sorrow amongst the ever-persistent anger, but never has gone deeper into the woods, so to say.]
[Ironic for a guide, he thinks.]
[He glances over with a flit of vibrant red eyes, before closing them. Another sigh. It would be nice to fall asleep here, he thinks, among the flowers. But he can never let himself do that. Not when his heart still beats.]
[Perhaps that's the same for Lobelia, too, on his new-found path. Whatever that path seems to be.]
And what is it you propose, exactly?