Roland leans forward, elbows on his knees, thinking it over. It's not as if he doesn't know the answer, but- "It's not enough to distract me in a fight. And nothing Susannah needs to know about." He glances back to Signless, then looks down to watch the fingers of his left hand trace the scars where two fingers of his right used to be. "Don't know whether you know of her. District 10, no legs below the knee, dark skin. She probably wouldn't be surprised, I told her about... about the cause of it. I told Cuthbert everything," he adds, looking now at his shoes, "but, ah."
But everything ends. Usually sooner than you expect. That's the way of things, and his relationship with Cuthbert had been no exception. He moves on.
Roland sits back, glancing toward the door, then looking at the Signless and this time trying to hold his gaze. It feels strange to be saying this out in the open where anyone else could walk in, but he's not about to ask if they can move. "My world has no word for it. I think Susannah's does, but I don't remember what it was. The same events," he says, twirling the two fingers of his right hand in a circle a few times, "again and again. Not my whole life, but, ah... maybe a year. Maybe a little more. I didn't remember any of it until a moment before I came here." He tries not to let his gaze go distant, to let his mind go back to that moment or let his face reflect the horror of it.
"Did your world have any similar concept?" Definitely not trying to distract himself, here. Not at all. "Either of them?"
the spoileryest spoiler it is possible to spoil for this series
But everything ends. Usually sooner than you expect. That's the way of things, and his relationship with Cuthbert had been no exception. He moves on.
Roland sits back, glancing toward the door, then looking at the Signless and this time trying to hold his gaze. It feels strange to be saying this out in the open where anyone else could walk in, but he's not about to ask if they can move. "My world has no word for it. I think Susannah's does, but I don't remember what it was. The same events," he says, twirling the two fingers of his right hand in a circle a few times, "again and again. Not my whole life, but, ah... maybe a year. Maybe a little more. I didn't remember any of it until a moment before I came here." He tries not to let his gaze go distant, to let his mind go back to that moment or let his face reflect the horror of it.
"Did your world have any similar concept?" Definitely not trying to distract himself, here. Not at all. "Either of them?"