He was a tired wreck. He had been since he had woken up in that thrice damned forest over a week ago. The most nourishing meal he had had been that one catch of salmon Tuesday morning, Welcome Sight’s delicious biscuits to go with warm tea notwithstanding of course. So factor in the bodily shock of a sudden, inexplicable change to diet in terms of both volume, regularity, and nature—Handy was not entirely convinced the gruel he had been eating all week was not, in fact, mostly dirt—as well as the various bruises, bangs, and back-breaking labour, and Handy found it very tempting to just lay where he was and wait for the world to literally swallow him up. And that was not even going into the recent violence he was forced to endure.