He was sitting up by the time that she got back, one elbow on a knee drawn up close and chin tucked down. He was looking at the shallow scratches, ten of them, that went down his chest. More scars, you could see him thinking, though in comparison to those that bisected his chest, these were going to be inconsequential. He did not seem concerned about his nakedness even when she entered again; more things on his mind, no doubt. The blanket was large and blue and only a little threadbare. He pulled it up to his neck and looked at her for a little while. "What the fuck was that?" he asked, not angrily, but truly bewildered.