"Don' eat sweets." He returned with a little shrug. Well, at least not very often. He preferred meat, his body craved it, and very little else tasted better. His system, in general, had issues with processed sugars thanks to so many years living in the wilds. He had been conditioned to eat only what he killed or could pull out of the ground.
"I don' wanna 'urt people." He offered with another sigh. "'Is... alla 'is 'round 'ere... 's not right." He was speaking openly and honestly about it, but not in the wistful way of one who longed to escape, but one who was on the outside looking in. Almost as if to emphasize the point, he absently scratched at his neck, the simple leather, spiked collar was drastically different from the island's standard issue collars. "'M tryin' t' make up fer stuff. 'S not easy."