It took time, but I stood and looked to him. "It was not my employer, sir," I said to the figure. I sighed and looked down. "I am the one they call Gwen the Knife-Eared. I had my ears cropped like this when I was a child." I said to the small figure. I reached a hand up and touched my ears. Memories of the pain still lingered and the scar still throbbed and burned. Just like it did those years back. I fell silent, the memories catching up to me as I looked to my feet. What was I to say? I didn't know him well, but he clearly doesn't like abuse. I could wish the same for many others. Yet that field lacked in many minds of those children and men, even some women. I felt something but I didn't know what. I was just tired, like always. I would go back to sleep and then wake up, seeing that this was all just a dream.