There were many quite beautiful thoughts on his mind, thoughts filled with color, form, dimension. He really thought about quite incredibly elaborately stunning structures, Soaring pillars and chambers fragrant and warm and soft.
They saw in him the master of numbers, of time, his thoughts were more in love with the winding, beautiful and quiet kind. They thought his calls every morning were happy cheers to greet the day. For him they were cries of desperation. Oh how much did he wish he had been given a vocabulary larger than the few syllables that, to make things worse, translated completely differently into most languages.