Howl braces himself against the muck under his hands and knees, gasping for air, praying that the sensation of being sucked downward into quicksand is only a figment of his imagination, as the sheer weight of Emet-Selch's emotions bears down on him like a physical, tangible force. The gravity of this heartrending past feels like it's being converted into literal gravity, and Howl cannot do anything in the face of it. He can't even raise his gaze to see the tears continuing to stream down Emet-Selch's face, or the glimmers of natural sunlight starting to break through their constructed surroundings.

No. With his head bowed, he sobs. Each tear sends a ripple across the surface of the black pool. He's sank into the pool up to his elbows now. He should have never said any of those things to Emet-Selch, to his friend, not even to save him. He hears the voice of the Innocent in the back of his mind again, telling him that it would have been more merciful, more loving, to let the Ascian become lost to peace that it offered. In this moment, it is hard to disagree with it.