"What do you think you're doing?" he asked. His voice was soft while the blade against my throat was not. I hesitated and felt his grip on my arm tighten. "I asked you a question," he reminded me. I wanted to swallow but couldn't. "I..." I began and held back a cough. My chapped lips burned as I reopened the slits in the delicate tissue. I pointed toward his jug of water, hoping he would understand.