Wheeling Gull Isle She's spending every weekend at my place

It wasn't like he was oblivious to his own appearance. Titmouse knew that he took some getting used to for most people, which explained why so many wolves kept their distance when they initially meet him. It wasn't often that they so pointedly react or ask about his wounds — or maybe he was wrong, and he just grew numb to the looks over time. He was half-blind after all, so maybe he just didn't notice the obvious. But the boy paused and when he did, Titmouse glanced at him and saw a flash of an expression, and knew almost instantly what had caused it. While the boy's stomach flip-flopped from that glimpse of his empty socket, Tit's did the same as he felt a brief spasm of anxiety.

—how'd you lose your eye? the boy asked. Titmouse supposed he had to expect that from time to time. Thankfully the islanders were scattered and preoccupied most days, and there weren't many of them, so he hadn't had to answer that question lately. Still, he felt... Uncertain. He could tell the truth and risk more questions, or lie and try to sculpt a better view of himself through the boy's perception.

He chose to tell the truth, for a change, and released his grip on the log long enough to say, Made some-bady mah... um, un-heh-pee. Ank-ree. Dey took.