"Don't know exactly," he admits with a shake of his head. "Lately things have been..." He trails off and lifts his hand, wiggling his fingers to signify something that goes beyond words. Though it's in his name and he's aware he went mad, the memories of that time when he was at his worst are muddled and distant, and everything before that is murkier still.

But this feels like the days before the madness was at its worst. He may not remember much clearly, but he does remember that. How it felt to be grasping at things only half there, people and faces just beyond his reach. How the woods and the trees had felt like the only escape.

"There are memories I don't know that I've had in a long bloody time," he says. "It's fuckin' weird. Don't much like it."