"They needed a doctor," Little nods as though in understanding. It makes a practical sense that they would take poor Goodsir, to utilise him for his knowledge. The men have all been in such bad sorts, and god, after witnessing what happened to Morfin.... to Fitzjames.... a certain fear has bred within Little, as well. A fear to lose himself. To rot away, to come to the point where one is longing for death. Pleading for it.

Though to take a man against his will... To think that this has happened, that they would behave like animals. Mutiny, kidnap...

"Damn him... that beast. None of it was in your control," he utters quietly, hoping to reassure, seeing the way Goodsir looks downwards to his hands. He knows how it is to feel... forced, though Edward barely knows the scope of just what horrors it is Goodsir was forced into.