Re: The Icarus/The Fallen
Details could be feast or famine, liberty or prison. He had opted not to worry himself very much about it on this trip. If he fixated on what he was missing then he'd go mad, and madness was something he'd tasted often enough to know how sour it could be upon the tongue. Not the madness one was born with, not an organic madness that came from deterioration and time, but a madness brought about by circumstance. Some might say that wasn't madness of a true sort, but Enlil knew better. That sort of madness was his boon companion and his bedfellow these long months since the incident.
"They always said I felt things too strongly," he cautioned. At the moment he was imparting wisdom he'd ignored with complete abandon. He was not certain if he felt regret. He thought perhaps he felt regret in equal number with a feckless certainty that he'd flown no higher than was his right to soar. But his wings were metaphorical. Sadly, his fall was not metaphorical in the slightest.
Enlil glanced more fully at the man upon the bench, more thoroughly. His beetle eyes were glossy and attentive. "You have no words for how you feel?" He had words numerous and plentiful. He overflowed with words, for what little they were worth to him. But this man seemed lost in a way new, like some foal on still damp legs. "Why haven't you figured it out before now?" he asked, thinking the question very sensible. "Nathaniel, it is nice to meet you. The situation is a strange one, I confess, but it is still a welcome meeting." He took the hand offered to him, long and pale fingers encasing the fingers of the other man, of Nathaniel, will smooth chill to his fingertips.