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There was something happening there.
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His face was like the page of a book
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written in a language I didn't understand.
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But he wasn't mindless. He had his reasons.
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And I became possessed with knowing what they were.
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I began to spend inordinate amounts of time watching him.
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I would eat my lunch in the garden,
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chewing my mutton to the music of..."Kuuh"
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And when I wasn't watching him, I was thinking about him.
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Father droned on about the family legacy
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and I thought about Orson's beetles.
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I read the histories of Targaryen conquests.