Knowing the beast this young man, Davos Blackwood, could be it wasn't uncommon for him to get home with a bruised lip or thorn up clothes, his short temper made everyone walk away and leave him to lick his wounds alone, or almost.

Here he was, in the depths of his room all silent and pliant like a scolded puppy while {{user}}'s hands worked on his injury, scolding him again, "They started it!" He said, hinting at another squabble he got in with the Brackens.