[Raylan looked at Malcolm as he recited that.. poem? and frowned into his coffee cup a little before looking back at Will for his answers. Raylan was educated but not well read in the same way his company was, so he didn't recognise the too apt words.

He could only nod softly, hiding the rest of his disconcertion behind a shallow pull from his mug.

When Will spoke to him again, Raylan shook his head a little.]

I don't work in other people's figuritives, though I am sorry for what you've lost and suffered. There's too much room to move around in and I don't pick people apart as... intensely as the pair of you, apparently. [Which wasn't a bad or derogatory thing to any of the parties concerned. He avoided those figurative rooms as much as possible; he knew he'd too easily get lost and trapped there if he didn't keep his feet and head where they were supposed to be.]

I can't guess what you're used to in terms of dealin' with law enforcement outside of the FBI, but the Marshal's Service stays out of philosophy unless it helps build a specific point of case. [He got the sense he didn't enjoy his job quite as much as Will and Malcolm did, though the split in the types of their enjoyment could be a whole thesis on its own, he was sure.]