The building falls quiet. Model automobiles glimmer on Frederick's shelves. "Do you ever wish," whispers Werner, "that you didn't have to go back?" "Father needs me to be at Schulpforta. Mother too. It doesn't matter what I want." "Of course it matters. I want to be an engineer. And you want to study birds. Be like that American painter in the swamps. Why else do any of this if not to become who we want to be?" A stillness in the room. Out there in the trees beyond Frederick's window hangs an alien light. "Your problem, Werner," says Frederick, "is that you still believe you own your life."