For one brief moment, he can feel the fate of Lodun lying in the cup of his hand - more of an effort to preserve it than it would be to let go, to permit it to shatter, as irreparably broken as Edouard's life.
Ants, he thinks. Vermin.
(The second may apply to some; the first, to more of them, if not to all - and who is he, after all, to judge, to act and damn, now that it is too late to forgive, to save, to understand.)
He lowers his hand and allows the sounds, the feelings of the world around him to resume.
Allows himself to grieve for all that has been lost.