He will never again question the actions of his father, who risked everything to love a human woman. Some of them can be, he has learned, addictive. He can no more explain the compulsion to touch her than he can explain his need for sleep. He does not understand why he is bound to watch her any more than he understands the patterns of the wind. He only knows he tried not to, that he fought it, and that finally succumbing to her feels like a kind of blissful unravelling.
