That comment sticks like a thorn in his side, and though it's impossible to see because he's buried his face in Mattheiu's shoulder his scowl is certainly discernable from the tone of his next answer. "What, then, oh Guardian, constitutes personhood? Is it the number of arms and legs one has? Is it walking upright? Is it the inevitable fight against mortality?

Because I assure you: I am 'a person'."

He's a bit cross, this sounds more like the Guardians that he'd encountered before, but it's desperately hard to be too upset when clever fingers are finally, finally taking care of the nuscience behind where one of his horns would normally be. The request had been entirely genuine: something had been caught there, perhaps a bit of stubborn shed, and the relief that comes with each pass of Mattheiu's fingers is heavenly.