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The hunchback stumbled as the Kelpie tugged on Barth's arm, but managed to keep upright. Calder's words only frustrated him, his face reddening in patches as he suddenly lurched back. NO. He was perfectly capable of enduring even the most menial of tasks! His Mistress would be PROUD he was able to put up with Barth's nonsense! And besides, Calder didn't even know how to do LAUNDRY properly! The most menial of tasks! With a snort, he picked up his pace, trying to get out of Calder's reach.

The hunchback staggered backwards, nearly collapsing on both of them, but managed to dig the heels of his boots into the sandy dirt road in an attempt to lean forward like a pendulum away from Calder. His grip tightened around the sleeping Sloth's legs with a frustrated snarl from his throat and nose. Maybe he SHOULD have followed his Mistress! The sorry excuses he had for FRIENDS seemed intent on being... being SLOTHS AND KELPIES.

As for WHY he had come... he wasn't sure, exactly. It had seemed like the right decision, what his gut told him to do when Riley had presented him with the decision. He had been worrying about them both the entire time... his Mistress? What was there to worry about? She had a commanding air he found hypnotic, and if the stupid HORSE couldn't understand that...

At that, the Igor froze, eyes widening. He let go of the demon, letting inertia do the rest. He turned only once, his face still red, his eyes watery and mouth twisted into a trembling, hurt scowl before he turned on his heal to storm down the path away from them and the group and let him untangle himself from the Sloth himself.

Mistress had said "No Hitting". Not after the... the Amrita incident. He shuddered, fists clenching. He was getting tired of "Incidents", tired of being ashamed of just... just BEING! He couldn't help who he was! He LIKED being around Riley! Being ordered around to him was... was like a Kelpie in a lake! It was natural! It was nothing against CALDER! But here he was being... being JEALOUS! Well- Mistress had said "No Hitting" and if Calder wanted him to rebel-

He turned again, this time storming directly back towards Calder, a fist drawn back, and Barth on his back or not, the blow was swung with all of his pent-up-frustration-filled might.

Before the Kelpie could protest, his stinging knuckles returned so he could frantically gesture in an exasperated way- pointing to Calder angrilly- "You", then raised both bear arms to flex their freshly restitched muscles- "Strong", then down to Barth's unconscious form, meaning "Him", and after a moment's hesitation, his hands flipped over, palms up in an exasperated, "Well look at him!"

Of course he was here for Barth. He was his friend too. A friend and Master, yes, but he wasn't... he wasn't a FALL BACK. He had come here for BOTH of them for goodness sake!

It was too late to turn back anyway.

Christof's expression crumbled, brows furrowed angrily, still, but there was more to the twist of features than that. How did one gesture "I didn't even comprehend the concept of friendship until a couple weeks ago, let alone what one did with 'friends'"? There wasn't even sand to write in. And if he cut his stitches, what sort of tongue would they find out here in the middle of no where?

Sometime before the trip, he had in passing found a book about talking with your hands- special gestures that meant specific things. He had been distracted by everything else going on, but now he wished he had read it closer. He could remember one gesture, though. His brows knitted, he pointed to himself, then pointed to Calder before slowly interlinking an index finger on either hand.

He blinked at the papers before looking even more miserable. Sign language was only useful when other people knew it too. He took them obligingly, the next problem lay in what to write WITH... he had a sharp rusty pipe and a finger full of blood... or... He glanced down to where Barth was now happily snoozing in a bed of fallen corn stalks. He always had junk in his pockets! He had to have SOMETHING! He leaned down to rifle through the unconscious sloth's pockets, praying for a pen, a marker, anything- his fingers found something cylindrical and he quickly snatched it up. A pencil stub! The tip was broken from all of Barth's adventurous... inactivity, but he was able to sharpen it on the Fear mutated sharp bits of his pipe. Using Barth's back as a make-shift table, he scribbled out:

Chose to come. Abandoned Riley. Not for Master Barth necessarily. Given a choice. Wanted to keep friends safe. Told to let you die, thought this was rude. Told her as much. Here now. If you do not want my company, I will travel alone. His face was still crimson, his mouth trembling.

Christof's brows furrowed before he began writing again, huddling down to crouch beside his so-called friend amongst the shimmering, almost peaceful corn. It was quiet... too quiet. But he welcomed the small moment of peace.

Never... had friends before. Had to ask M. Malodore about it. Different than Masters. But not so different. He glanced up at Calder, scratching at the stitches of his cheek a moment before continuing, Frustrated by you. But like you. You treat me differently than the others. He didn't think of him as a freak or a creeper, generally... except for that seeming rift between a Kelpie and Igor outlook on life.