[ Byerly's lip quirks up in a cockeyed sort of fondness. Dear God help him. Has he found a kindred spirit? The story rings painfully, agonizingly familiar. ]

Poor beastie. I'll burn a death-offering for your horse someday. [ That's not mocking; in Byerly's odd, arch way, it's genuinely sympathetic. ] What was your esteemed paterfamilias' reason for sending you to ruin and starvation?