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Will vaguely remembered falling. Or maybe it just felt that way. For a span all he could recall was plummeting into the darkness and cold. So maybe he had just imagined it. He’d slipped into unconsciousness so many times over the years, and each instance had been possessed of its own sensation. Freezing. Sinking. Being swallowed. Burning alive. But this had definitely felt like falling, with the unmistakable bone-rending crush of icy cold water at the bottom.
So maybe they had fallen together over that eroding cliff into the arms of the Atlantic.
The cliff.
They… he and Hannibal...
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I want to give you what you give me.