Skellig presses his palms against the earth below them, using the grass as a familiar reference point. He has spent many hours and days lying in this grass, connection to the forest growing stronger, aiding in his self-healing, his sense of belonging.

"So good," he says, and there's that whimper again. "More, please, more."

Words are going to be hard to manage, very soon. But he will make up for it with moans and groans of pleasure, utterances to the sky and the trees.