"Of course I should be talking about it. Might not get another chance. I won't cut myself off from it." Roland watches the inside of his closed eyes, thinking. He's spoken of it freely, of Jake and the sacrifices he made. He hasn't cut himself off from it, has he? He's spoken on it, as much as he's able.

"It should be alright, shouldn't it? I've remembered it. It mattered, and I have remembered it. And it hurts, oh it hurts. It should be alright to leave it again, think on other things. I think it's alright."

Roland searches for something else and finds it, after a moment. A general enough detail that it isn't too hard to pick out among all the memories shoving their way through his mind, something that mattered. "He had a pet, as a boy ought. I never did, not after the dog who died when I was but three. Jake's was a billy bumbler. Do you have those in your where? He didn't. They're like dogs, sometimes more intelligent, said to be more loyal. This one was both. Saved our lives more than once. And what did he get for it?"

Roland takes a breath, opens his eyes. He stares at the center of the room. "It's gone, I think." His voice isn't hesitant, but only because he may not be capable of sounding like that. It isn't hesitant, but it's very close. "Or fading. The- the- I almost don't see it any more."