Stone Circle and put it all back together again in the quiet of my private collection

Words. Patterns. Rhymes. They filled him, and tried to overflow, in speech, in poems, in songs - but for all his understanding, his attempts still held the eloquence of a child, and the depth of a babe. Of words, well, he knew so very many, and yet so very few - but that was okay. He had spent his whole life discovering, and not knowing simply meant that he had more still to learn, and he knew he always would.

So Merrit recited the words he knew quietly as he sought an audience today, murky eyes shifting left and right to catch the shape of another before he'd set his nose to the ground to search harder. He'd prepared himself with what he'd been learning, and he didn't need much. Just someone, anyone who would be willing to listen, to hear, and to correct him, wherever he went wrong.