Sam looked into Thorn's eyes with a deeply suspicious look, remembering she was the one who had bitten his nipple in the first place.  The one who had first suggested cutting his tongue out.  What right did she have to go caring for him?  Perhaps she really did care about him, perhaps she'd finish him off with a needle full of something soothing instead of a hatchet.  He had no particular illusions though.  He simply kept on smiling, slowly drifting into reassuring grasp of a psychosis.<br/><br/>He barely heard her ask whether or not it hurt, and answered the question by parting his lips to expose his still bloody teeth.  He idly wondered how much it would hurt to have his teeth knocked out, or perhaps have them filed to razor sharp points.  The latter he would go and do himself, if he wasn't put down like a rabid dog.  Even if he escaped or was let go, he couldn't integrate back into normal society, not anymore.  When asked whether he'd like water, Sam began to mimic writing motions with his right hand.  "Peahp... Peagh..."  he moaned, feeling proud that he didn't choke on any blood this time.  He began to wonder just how many victims the two wolves had played host to, and how many of them had ended up admiring them, like he found himself doing.  Perhaps he had been weaker than most, and given up his personality and morals far too soon.   Either way, he sat and awaited the next round of torture.