Wheeling Gull Isle poking a voodoo doll you didn't know i made

Stop that, calls a familiar voice; he hears the rest but is being petulant, pretending not to. Reed is one of the few medics who doesn't treat him as a fragile piece of sea glass and he is thankful for it, but that doesn't stop him from trying his best to push his own limits. He scoffs at her suggestion and tries to stand again, again, again, and each time he falters — the final time, he sinks to his belly and is panting heartily, but does not look at her. He keeps his gaze on the ground, and his posture says, fine, you're right. He didn't like feeling so weak and it was clear by the glassy stare that takes up residence in his good eye. He needs stimulation and nobody is letting him do anything, which is immensely frustrating.