Daryl traced the longer scar curved along the mound of what was left of his genitals, curving from the opening of his urethra and under the shrunken sack of his balls. The doctors in Darrow had clearly done their best, but the wound was so obviously a product of strange, unimaginable cruelty. Still, Daryl touched him without pity, soft where the skin was more delicate, and with more pressure where he seemed to need it.

"You're gonna have to give me some direction here," he admitted with a sheepish smirk.