Ankyra Sound time's the thief of memory

He might have compared a body such as his to a mountain ridge equipped with crevices and chasms, eroded by the tumult of bad weather and entropy; perhaps he would have been impressed if he had been healthy and staring at someone else of equal damage. As it sat, Firefly was not aware of just how damaged his body was to those that looked upon it. He knew that his wounds had mostly healed in to a patchwork of scars; he knew that he couldn't walk in a straight line without hitching a few steps; he knew he was almost blind in one eye, and that his fear of the dark had grown immensely in the past few weeks.

He was not impressive. But the stranger looked upon him like he could've been a mighty warrior, or like he was a soldier having survived a war. In a way that was accurate, but Firefly did not see any reason for such interest to dominate anyone's mind in conjunction to his ruin. He was frowning, flashed his teeth with a brief lift of his lips, and muttered, You think? Not worth the fight, not that he remembered.