The hands returned – disembodied, cold, implacable. They gripped his hair and pulled his face up, pressed with unwavering dispassion at the hinges of his jaw until he was forced to open his mouth to lessen the pressure. Then a chilled tasteless mush with the texture and consistency of twice-mashed beans was shoved into his mouth, and the cold hands pressed his jaw up until closed, holding him as he struggled, relentless until his swallowed. Futilely  Gadwar attempted to kick at the owner of those hands or turn his head and bite at those iron fingers, but to no avail. After he swallowed the hands disappeared. Never could he sense the figure whom fed him. No one heard either their approach or departure. They had no schedule or warning. He could not discern their presence in any manner or method until he felt the icy touch on his face, sudden, unwarranted, hateful. Nowhere else was touched, no other action taken, no cruelty beyond the dispassionate, mechanical feeding, and this was cruelty enough in its disregard of him beyond this task.