"You touched it." His face contorted in a characteristic sneer.
"Yeah."
"Why on earth did you touch it?" Jareth's voice dripped in unchecked disdain.
"It was dying. I couldn't do anything else for it."
Her mind flashed back to a rat lying convulsed in its last mortal shivers. Her fingers recalled how they'd hesitated, wondered if the creature would try to bite her as she approached the top of its head. Then the surprising softness of its fur. A dark eye staring unblinkingly, frozen in what was probably unbearable pain as its whiskers twitched involuntarily. How exposed it had seemed to her curled up on the edge of the sidewalk. At first she had wondered if it was already dead, until she bent down to inspect the weak flickerings of its chest cavity. She wished she could have taken it somewhere warm and safe away from the shoes of morning commuters and the shuffle of businessmen carrying briefcases filled with documents. No document for this little life…
You are lovely, little rat. Her eyes, her presence could not extricate itself from the vision of that fading being. The more she stared the more language drained from her mind as the life force of that wretched mammal worked itself silently into her soul.
Sarah looked over her shoulder at the still agitated Jareth. A detached peace gripped her psyche.
"Anyway, I washed my hands. I don't imagine Goblins are all that hygienic either."
"That's why I wear gloves," he stated with glowering pedantry.
Yes, Jareth, you are a prat. We've established that fact. Sarah held her tongue. There was no getting through to him in this state. You are lovely, little rat, echoed once more in the back of her mind…
She smiled, gracefully ignoring his foul temper.