Faraday lets out a derisive snort at the question. He may not be the smartest of the bunch, but his natural gift for storytelling means he has a surprisingly varied vocabulary.

“I know plenty of big words,” he cuts back, affronted – though it’s more for show than anything. He pauses as he turns back to Jack, stretching out his leg one last time before climbing into his saddle. He’s slower about it than he normally would be, but the brief reprieve is enough to have calmed the ache until a dull throb. He sighs with relief once he settles into position, a hand rubbing reflexively over the old wound.

And he continues on with a bright smile, “That one means bullshittin’.”