[It isn't surprising how easily anger flares in his gut any longer. It’s like a beast that sleeps within him, rising like a storm when met with unfairness and injustice, or circumstances that prey upon the innocent, or the memory of those he had lost and those who stole them from him. He's accepted it, now, that ugly part that heats his nerves and sets his fingers twitching once more for the point of his lance. And to hear this story from Oz, it’s no surprise that it twists inside of him again — angry for his sake, for a world (even worlds away) that would accept this as right, that would leave innocent children to die because they did not achieve an impossible standard of “strength” that made them worthy of living.

It shows on his face. For the first time, it truly informs the downward turn of his lips. A deep churning in blue eyes, an intensity fixed upon his new friend.]

They were wrong to do so. And they should be made to realize it; left tied up an alone and unable to move, let the wildlife encroach upon them thinking they are an easy meal.

[Let nature tear out and gnaw at their insides, and allow them to feel as weak as they make others.

Dimitri lets out a shuddering breath.]

How did you escape? You must have?