The Sentinels long dead rows of daffodils and marigolds

Apparently the concept of him gouging out his own eye was funny enough that the stranger let out a short chuckle and inched closer. It was hard to tell with one eye, admittedly, but he seemed to be looking straight into the hole in his face. Perhaps it was just morbid curiosity; but it was nothing more than a blank pit, the fur around it marred with deep scratches that Brig was still a little surprised he'd managed to make with nothing more than his blunt claws, when he looked at it in the water.

Brig did laugh at the question; whatever this stranger was expecting the cause of his ailment to be, it was nothing so dramatic as that. He lowered himself to the ground and looked at him as though he was expecting a long, possibly dramatic retelling; unfortunately for him, Brig wasn't really the one who did stories. That was Adéwalé, and though the jackdaw could recall things with pinpoint precision, he wasn't the funniest person around especially when it came to anyone other than them. 

"Nothing so exciting," he said. "It happened when I was a pup. I don't feel...pain, so --" he shrugged, the curl of his lips amused. "When I had an itch, I just scratched it right out by mistake." He could see how bizarre it seemed now, to literally anyone else, in hindsight -- since he hadn't met another animal who didn't recoil when they got injured.