Don’t mind the village idiot, [ he drawls, pulling the words apart like taffy just because. ] Mama weren’t big on book learning.

[ It’s easy to pull masks, to mock. He’s used to people thinking him stupid; let them. It provides openings. Even so, her words bite at him. All these things she knows or claims to know, a context he’s climbing through blind. But he watches her hands and that clench and thinks, ah. You’ve got doubts, too. ]

Dead’s dead. Souls? That’s philosophical. I might have to break out the big words for that one, Shadowheart, and then where would we be?