[ Thomas has little to do with shame these days. The sort of life he's led has been a cure against it, as one cures leather against rot.
But there's the shame that comes of being judged, scourged by eyes that skim over you like you are a contamination on the face of the Earth, and then there's this. One is the shame that the world would have you carry, and the other is the shame that creeps up from within. His defences against that type are oblivion, and oblivion is what he is denied.
He meets Kate's sad, dark eyes, and thinks of wounded rabbits, and shame burns in him like bile. As so many things do, it makes him angry, but not at her. He can manage that much. ]
I told you that you'd be better served looking after your own self. [ He says, harshly. ] Do you plan to chase every vagabond you see into the forest, girl?
[ He is angry she's here. He's angry he permitted himself to be followed this far, trampling forth unaware of who he was baiting into danger. Now it's complicated, again, by some stranger who imagines there's something left of him to salvage. ]
no subject
But there's the shame that comes of being judged, scourged by eyes that skim over you like you are a contamination on the face of the Earth, and then there's this. One is the shame that the world would have you carry, and the other is the shame that creeps up from within. His defences against that type are oblivion, and oblivion is what he is denied.
He meets Kate's sad, dark eyes, and thinks of wounded rabbits, and shame burns in him like bile. As so many things do, it makes him angry, but not at her. He can manage that much. ]
I told you that you'd be better served looking after your own self. [ He says, harshly. ] Do you plan to chase every vagabond you see into the forest, girl?
[ He is angry she's here. He's angry he permitted himself to be followed this far, trampling forth unaware of who he was baiting into danger. Now it's complicated, again, by some stranger who imagines there's something left of him to salvage. ]