The way she talks to him seems to hit a nerve, acting like she had to explain to some large monster with claws and dripping fangs how to behave. Ever since he could remember he was always the devil's child, the ungrateful runt, the one that bites the hand that feeds him.

"Too weak for a real fight is what you're saying," he snaps back, acting adversarial to try and hurt her just the same.

"Ain't my problem you've got a buncha lousy warriors playing with sticks."

He's not beneath the petty thought that he should have expected as such from a camp full of women and kids.