He tensed up instinctively, ready to run after the man, relaxing only after he saw that he had dropped the tin. That was good. And laughed at the idiot for tripping over his goddamn robes or whatever. "Fucking moron," he shouted, mostly just because of his frustration to noone in particular, before crouching down to grab the tin, shaking it a bit to estimate how much was in it. Enough.

He'd be fine for at least a couple of days now. And he didn't even need to bloody his knife. Shame. But if the man would come back for it, then it'd be pretty damn likely that he'll get a new shiny layer of red on his knife.