[France runs his hand over his face, scrubbing at some of the dirt he feels there.]

It's just -

[He stops, gashing his teeth, his head tipping forward so that when he continues he's speaking into Envy.]

I miss my land, my people. I miss hearing my language. I always do, being here, but it's stronger somehow. It always is after these moments when we loose days and memory, and I feel so much less -

[He breaks off, his hand curled tight in his own hair, jaw working unevenly as if he can't decide what he wants to do with his voice. It's not so much that's he's at a loss for words as he has too many, and he can't decide what he wants to say first.]