Leif is well on his way down memory lane, looking at the walls of the cottage and feeling his insides twist, when the command comes. He obeys almost automatically, sinking to his knees in the dirt.
He stops in front of Leif, looking down at him. There is still nothing there. He is empty, when he does this, and it is one of the reasons he was once highly in demand. Small though he is, malnourished, sharp in the wrong places, he seems to feel nothing, which implies that he will never stop.
He looks up and sees that, and a part of him shrinks away, worried that this was the wrong choice, that he's made a grave mistake. But another part is consumed with the conviction that he's wrong, that he's the mistake, and that this is the only way to banish the wrongness and the broken-ness and whatever it is that keeps driving people away from him.
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He stops in front of Leif, looking down at him. There is still nothing there. He is empty, when he does this, and it is one of the reasons he was once highly in demand. Small though he is, malnourished, sharp in the wrong places, he seems to feel nothing, which implies that he will never stop.
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He then quickly brings his hand up and backhands him across the jaw.
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