"HA! ANOTHER MORTAL THAT THINKS HIMSELF STRONG! HOW MANY HAVE I SEEN FALL TO MY BLESSING BY NOW? YOU HAVE ENRAGED ME, FOOLISH VESSEL, AND NOW I SEE ANOTHER PLAN GO TO WASTE."
'Pain…' Vol murmured to himself. That was all he felt. Pain of all different kinds. The pain of flesh came to him unbidden, along with a memory from long ago, of one of his worst beatings. He'd irritated an older boy, far ahead of him in years, and he'd paid the price mightily for that. He'd been beaten with a stick for so long that he'd lost count of the strikes. In a fit of rage, the older boy had seemed to be set out to kill him. If the baker hadn't happened to be walking by, Vol would have died there and then.
