Luke’s fingers paused on Rufus’s right thigh, where gnarled scar tissue told its story of the musket ball and, far worse, the camp doctors. By comparison the various sabre-slashes were quite tidy. “You don’t mind this?” “I minded a great deal at the time, but there’s no shame in scars.” Christ, could he not say anything right tonight? “I mean, nothing to it, for me. I see it as a useful reminder, that’s all.” “Reminder of what?” Rufus shrugged. “To stand a foot to the left next time.”
