In What Distant Deeps
I try to focus on simple tasks. I must keep hold of my mind at all costs.
As he heats the poker I study his trouser knees and his muddied boots. He has been looking for Moriarty again. He'll not find him. I buried my enemy deep in those raging waters and his screams told of death more surely than any corpse. What he faced there he could not have survived.
Although his anguish and fury is born anew each failed expedition, I have given up telling Moran this. The scars across my back tell the futility of both actions.
