The prison door opened and closed again. Bartlett, covered in wounds, sighed and heavily threw himself onto a mat of straw. He then clutched his chest, grimacing and cursing, "Damn it, damn it!" He slowly moved into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes to rest.
Just then, a faint voice sounded in his ear, "Where's the meat, master?" The childish voice asked. Along with the voice, something kept rubbing against his cheek, seemingly being insistent.
"Not this time." Bartlett grabbed the little thing climbing on his face and casually threw it aside. Then he turned over, facing the wall, and continued his important task of sleeping.
"But didn't you promise to bring back meat each time?" The creature spoke while wriggling up from the hem of Bartlett's shirt, out from the neck opening, and started grooming the disheveled beard on his chin.
