【生肉搬运】鸟雀Passerine 第二章(17)

Wilbur took a shaky breath, letting the fresh air in and trapping it in his lungs for as long as he could. Then he let it out.
He glared at Technoblade, then got into position.
“Fine,” he spat. “Do your worst.”
“Wilby, you look like trash,” Tommy said brightly over a plate of eggs.
“Tommy,” Father scolded.
“No, no,” Technoblade mumbled through a mouthful of meat. “The boy is right, Phil, Wilby does look like trash.”
Wilbur groaned at their remarks—and then groaned some more when the movement made his ribs feel like they were cracking apart. Bruises were already starting to form up and down his arms from the various times Technoblade had knocked him to the floor. He couldn’t even reach for his utensils without pain lacing up his side, and so his breakfast remained tantalizingly out of reach right in front of him.