The howl of the wind, the key to destruction, darkness and a cold dead eye and there you stand in a grim silent room and ask something as stupid as why.
The answer is right there in front of you fool, draped stiff and still in a blanket.
Wolf maw, huntsman's musket, old age and avalanche. You've died so many times.
Why do I keep coming back?
Norman...have you found the source of that thumping yet?