"I..." September sits back on his heels, thinking. The more he thinks on it, the more he realises Diarmuid might be correct. The past several years suddenly clicks into perspective: everything from developing a taste in food to the extent of September's own interference in events comes back to him and he comes to a painful conclusion.
He had changed.
"I..." he repeated, one hand going to his chest. His gaze tracks away and he stares into the middle distance. "I am not the same as I was when my mission started."
His gaze returns to Diarmuid. "I suspect... you may be right.... I am... different to the rest of my people...."
no subject
"I..." September sits back on his heels, thinking. The more he thinks on it, the more he realises Diarmuid might be correct. The past several years suddenly clicks into perspective: everything from developing a taste in food to the extent of September's own interference in events comes back to him and he comes to a painful conclusion.
He had changed.
"I..." he repeated, one hand going to his chest. His gaze tracks away and he stares into the middle distance. "I am not the same as I was when my mission started."
His gaze returns to Diarmuid. "I suspect... you may be right.... I am... different to the rest of my people...."