Wapun Meadow boorish

we can fade here?

Ursus, he says. Taylor mouths it— purses his lips, the touch, release, touch of his tongue at his front teeth. The air hissing out, it's all that he can hear, careening through the fine bones in his head. The shudder of an instrument. Up his spine. The shudder of photons in the beam of a nuclear explosion.
It's mask off, but he doesn't feel like he's been stuck between two glass slides and into a microscope. It's a feeling that other people who are more emotionally inclined would call belonging, but poor ignorant Taylor just holds it in his hands, feels the weight of it, brushes the dust off and places it in a drawer full of numbered files.
Poor Taylor. Poor Merrick. 
I know you will already do that, he says. Taylor only smiles. You know me so well, he thinks, and that's why I know you so well. He's not used to being known. He's not sure he likes it. But he thinks that he will make an exception just this once. Take me there. Not like he has anywhere else to go.