My cousin. I attended his funeral. He drowned, you know. Did you know? His father, Nuncle Dedalus murdered him as sure as he did me. But it wasn’t Icarus who flew too close to the sun for Nuncle D’s comfort. No. It was I who burned too brightly, who flew too well. My growth revealed his decline. My talent became his enemy. He didn’t want a rival, plain and simple. He drew me, hawklike man, predator. Drew me away from the ground to the top of the Acropolis (and I am the one called lapwing!) my shell still crowning my stephanos. Jealous. He pushed me, his sister’s child, and called it an accident. Then the artificer wept false tears. And I thirty-two feet per second per second fell into Athena’s grace. She enfeathered me. Now I disguise his agenbite of inwit. His secret. Hold me in abomination if you will. I’ll come to your funeral. I went to my cousin’s grave after they fished him out, drowned man, seabedabbled. Weltering in the whirlpools of his father’s agenbite of inwit with no help or care. Well, I’ll take care of him now. I’ll lead the hawk away from his grave. I’ll lead you too. Yes, you. Follow my compass. I’ll be your star by night and your pillar of cloud by day. We shall stay low to the ground. I have lost my faith. Now this is how I disguise my secret. You disapprove? You think me too false? Well, I’ll hide mine, what do you care how, you hide yours any way you like.