"I'll," which he says before he's even really thought of how to end that sentence.
That smile. It means that Matthias is right. He's totally right. This rat bastard skiver is going to play like he's seriously wounded right up until he gets to lay down in an infirmary bed and then he'll trot off and be well and whole and fine and Matthias will either have to sweep up alone, or pay the price for being tattled on--or, worse, both of those things.
But what is he going to do about it?
He draws himself up to his full height, stopped short in his scramble. A chill wind blows through the courtyard, pushes at his back and blows his ill-trimmed tumble of hair over his forehead and into his eyes. Impatiently, Matthias shoves it back with the sleeve of his robe fallen over his hand.
"If you leave me here to clean up this--shit, all by myself," he says, in as close to a low and dangerous tone as he can muster, "then I will get back at you. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday, when you least expect it, probably. And I reckon I'll have loads of time to think up a really good revenge. Because you're such a rat that you're going to go off somewhere and eat up all the loads of pity and people feeling sorry for you, like a total milksop. Instead of just doing the decent honest thing."
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That smile. It means that Matthias is right. He's totally right. This rat bastard skiver is going to play like he's seriously wounded right up until he gets to lay down in an infirmary bed and then he'll trot off and be well and whole and fine and Matthias will either have to sweep up alone, or pay the price for being tattled on--or, worse, both of those things.
But what is he going to do about it?
He draws himself up to his full height, stopped short in his scramble. A chill wind blows through the courtyard, pushes at his back and blows his ill-trimmed tumble of hair over his forehead and into his eyes. Impatiently, Matthias shoves it back with the sleeve of his robe fallen over his hand.
"If you leave me here to clean up this--shit, all by myself," he says, in as close to a low and dangerous tone as he can muster, "then I will get back at you. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday, when you least expect it, probably. And I reckon I'll have loads of time to think up a really good revenge. Because you're such a rat that you're going to go off somewhere and eat up all the loads of pity and people feeling sorry for you, like a total milksop. Instead of just doing the decent honest thing."