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Pura took himself off to a corner, taking bow-legged-ness to a hugely exaggerated extreme. He settled within glaring distance of the sisters, flung his leg in the air, and began to nurse his poor, bruised ball-sack. He wasn't usually one for dramatics, but the location of the injury felt markedly less bad-ass than any others he had sustained so far in his short life, and his young pride was smarting. His occasional whines for attention were met by chortles and shaking heads from the adults, though one or two males flashed him a sympathetic look - they knew. When a lady grabs you by the balls, you're allowed to sulk. At least for a few minutes.

Exit Pura.