For all the Beastmaster hardly anticipated the refusal, he does not seem to take insult from it. Only offers the rabbit again, swaying in his keep, and pointing with his other stunted hand to where fat's hidden, here and there, on the creature.

Not much meat on it, but it'll do. Watch, "Good for... long boil."

There is a hurt in his speech, a slow, measured rasping. "Bones... the bones break. And the marrow seasons."

He speaks, quite possibly, from decades of hunting experience. There is ever value in a carcass, even when the riches of meat elude. "You give the gristle... to... your dogs."