Poor fool.

[He laughs to himself. No, he won't give that up. He's found somewhere to dig in, some leverage he won't release. It's better that way.]

[His head cocks to one side, as if listening to a silent voice.]

What does he know? What does he remember? If he's as knowledgeable as he thinks he is, surely, he can answer that. Where it began? Hm?

[But the chatter dies. Movement dies. Everything goes rigidly, terrifyingly, still.]

[Until his head slowly shakes back and forth.]

I'm not stupid. Storms are weather. Weather doesn't change you. Doesn't make you calm.