You creep to the man's feet. As you approach, you smell the chained man's unwashed ripeness--if he's been here a month or so, very little care has been given to keep him clean or comfortable.
As you scurry, the man leans over, and a large dollop of wax drops onto your tail. From what you first see of his head beneath the hood, his chin is pallid and narrow, his neck gangly and the color of raw chicken-flesh. The man winces at the strange behavior he hears from the guards, and raises his hands defensively.
"Ah! Take whatever you want and go!" he shouts through trembling lips.
The entire top of his head, from the crown and dribbling down to his hollow cheeks, is slathered in melted wax.