Well, maybe turnabout's fair play after all. Wrench doesn't roll his eyes at that. He doesn't give Sandor the satisfaction of proving that he realizes his own words have been used against him. Instead, Wrench pretends to preen. He ruffles a hand through his overgrown, unwashed curls and stands a little prouder. Puckers his lips as though the man has really paid him some kind of a compliment.

Not long enough to have taught everyone sign language just yet.

It's evident he thinks his misunderstanding is justified, but Wrench doesn't seem bitter. On the whole, he appears disinterested in this new revelation. If better understanding the source of the magic changes his life in some discernible way, he doesn't know how. Unless the rock is unlocking some magic portal back home, Wrench doesn't know how much attention it deserves to be paid. Even if it were he's not yet convinced he'd have reason to step back through the door.

I don't know. We mostly just walk hand-in-hand by the water. I guess I could ask her the next time I see her.

This time he pitches his eyes so far backward his irises practically disappear.