i was fumbling for the water when he reached his hand to my face. carefully, with his bony old flat-pad fingers, he brushed the hair from my eyes and plucked a thorn of glass from my eyebrow and then patted me on the head.
"there, there." his voice was very faint, very scratchy, very cordial, with a ghastly pulmonary whistle. we looked at each other, for a long strange moment that i've never forgotten, actually, like two animals meeting at twilight, during which some clear, personable spark seemed to fly up through his eyes and i saw the creature he really was—and he, i believe, saw me.