Michael once again had to tilt his head as Morgan spoke, he couldn't understand all of what she was saying however. The words had meaning, he understood what dancing was; human-kin custom. To celebrate or to express joy. But the concept of accounting escaped him. What form of custom was that? Something like the breakfast custom right now? A daily ritual used by those who could not feed themselves?<br/><br/>"Head full of stars? This one does not understand. This one's head is full of strange thoughts, not his own but from anothe. Of one who once<span style="color: SeaGreen">was</span>..." Michael growled the last part, his head, his thoughts, they burned trying to find the right explanation to his situation. He was both predator and prey, not in the hunt but of body and mind. The man tried to shake his head clear of foreign thoughts, complex in words and far too uncomfortable to speak aloud.<br/><br/>Gingerly he peeled back part of the fabric covering one of his eyes, the light was sharp and painful, almost blindingly so. He had become reliant on this cloth since he had been introduced to the shelter. As his eye began to adjust he glanced over the two before him turning away again, "Sad? Lost? Hurt? This one understands those words. This one knows of those but not in same....ma<span style="color: SeaGreen">nner</span>, this one was once something... now is nothing... faceless... This one is faceless now. Cannot see what it has become."<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>