he would work with the dying . `` does everybody have to be tattooed in your world ? '' i toss my towel on the bed and close my door . `` do you want me to pluck out your eyes ? '' around each wrist was a dark red groove , the marks of some sort of binding , rope or metal , that had cut into the skin over many years . he laughed slightly as he said , the first one i ever fought with actually nicked me with one of its horns . 