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He is old and quiet, gentle yet always hungry. Not for food though, but the tangled words that you can't quite say. All those moments of hesitation, of uncertainty, he'll take them for himself and leave you wondering what it was you ere going to put into words. Other times, he'll take those words of praise or prayer, of worship or wonder or even the secrets you keep to yourself. You'll get them back, he's not the sibling who picks at your memories, but you'll hesitate before getting them back, even if it's just for a moment. You won't hear him, no words come from his mouth, but you'll know when he's close, hear the whispers in the back of your head in a tone distinctly not your own. It's a good sign if you know he's there though. If he was scavenging for snacks, you would never even know he's there.