Had she not understood? Jefferson turned his green eye on her slowly, a cutting knife in his one-eyed gaze; did she find his handicap humorous, perhaps, that she sided with the goddamned bear and her goddamned rats for children? The cyclops hardly appreciated it at all, a burning fire sparking in his stomach, but he recognized the girl meant no real harm by the foolish comment. He swallowed a lump in his throat that correspondingly swallowed a shout dying to be released. "They decided to play with me, madam," he said, tone gravelly as his chest burnt and boiled. "I stood still. They bit at my ears and crawled on me, and then their mother decided to do worse." He thinned his eye, a thousand more accusations running through his mind, but instead silenced himself by turning his pointed gaze elsewhere.
Jefferson came to realize that he had never asked for nor accepted help when it came to his injuries, especially his wounded arm. The scars there were permanent; the bear had tore his flesh and left him that way, and Jefferson had never sought to fix the pain that shot through when the limb was used. "Nothing," he grunted. "Nobody's done anything to this arm." He made no comment on the pain that plagued him there, but instead turned the sling away from her, as if in defense.
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