"I broke a guitar string today."

This is how Edgar lives. His mind isn't full of deep, pressing worries. They've grown, yes, and he's far more cognizant of political cares than he was before he could properly set his eyes King, but it turns off. He can just breathe.

He'd give anything to simply give Andrew the skill, but until then, he could babble. "Left a wicked welt mark. We're gonna have to make up a better story."