The whimper made him sad. He didn't like that whimper at all, but he needed things to be abundantly clear to her, for her own good just as much as his. He kept his eyes on her as he gathered up his things and then slung the little bag over his shoulder.

Skin and bones. People in this place were skin and bones and severed legs. Some had faces that went red in the sun and with exertion.

"I just can't understand why they brought people like you here," he said, his eyebrows furrowing. "The ones that seem like they're having trouble even surviving. You're just skin and bones."

Which, she knew that, probably, so he rallied with, "If I had just a little bit more food or knew I could find some more, I'd give it to you. I'm sorry that I can't."