He remembered the face, sweaty and enraged, that often appeared above the couch that he slept on. He would wait, struggling not to cry out, his own mouth set with wavering bravery.
"Doan' you ever look at me like that," his father would warn, seizing him by his shirt and lifting him to his feet.
He would wait, silently, for the blows to come. Though he was terrified, he would never show this emotion. His father beat him because he would not scream for mercy.
Now that he was older, and no longer weak, Spot intended to return the favor.