Bearclaw Valley saying you're to blame

Just as expected, Evien was as prickly as ever, and Taylor winces inwardly. He focuses on his arched brow until the world becomes that single patch of skin, curved by facial muscle. The dissapointment was so thick in the air he thinks we ought to have been given gas masks for this one. 
I wanted to see if he could fight, and he could, he says, his words careful and metered. Then, with a flat, dry smile: It was a good lunch.
He braces himself just in case of explosion. He'd never wanted to escape dissaproval like this— everything rolled off his back or slipped inside of him unnoticed, but this want was like a thorn in his side, a heaviness in his stomach, something he found trouble with burying. It annoys him to no end, that for all his effort in building walls, they would falter as soon as he allowed them to stand on their own. He's interested in joining.