Is it really courage, when it gets to do or die? I suspect cowardice could get you to the same position just as easily.

[He doesn't feel brave. It's hard to think of it, when you're terrified half the time and desperate the rest of it. He feels weak and useless and dirty, the last of which he hates more than anything. Untouchable: just the worst.

He curls his fingers back against his palm and lowers his hand to the table, shaking his head as if to shake off that brief flirtation with melancholy.]

And who knows? Lets find out when we get to it, shall we? I have pulled some hair in my time.