"Much like being unable to see the forest for the trees." He turns back to stare at the void, a gust of wind whipping his hair about his shoulders and bearing him forward- not enough to tip over but enough that his current grip against the ledge is not enough to keep him from listing. But it is enough to keep him from falling.

There is a moment, when he's tipped that far forward where his heart thunders in his throat and he thinks, perhaps, he should let go.

It passes. Just as it always does, it passes and he leans back- sagging, even, against the cold stone. Waiting for the wind to make the call his hands cannot.