Gor had no sooner stuck his fork into the mashed potatoes than he realized both of his brothers were looking at him. Past torment, both at their hands and others, had taught him to be defensive, so he frowned at them both and demanded, "What?"
He racked his brain, wondering what on earth they could be staring at now. It couldn't be his dinner -- it was rather normal, considering the options. A slab of meatloaf lay on its side beside a heap of potatoes (plain, no gravy or butter), a helping of corn, and a dinner roll that was probably hard as a rock.
His eyes flickered to the last brother as he returned to the table, happy for the distraction as his eyebrows rose. "Not thirsty?"