Edmund could understand why some people liked storms.  He probably would have, if not for the lifetime of memories he associated with them.  But like Francis said, drinking would help, and he took another large sip, and then another.

This man really liked to smile.  Was Edmund the weird one, or was Francis?  He was such a poor judge of those things.

"What did you do, to get where you are now?" the boy inquired.  Perhaps if Francis could impart some wisdom on him, he'd reach this wonderful place Francis was sooner, and he'd worry less.

Already, the ale was taking it's hold on Edmund.  He was so thin, and he hated it most times, but right now it let him get woozier much faster than he would have if he was much bigger.  Eager to cast all sense of thoughts aside, he drank some more, halfway through the massive glass.