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View character profile for: Wim Riese
Wim continued to laugh because screaming the pain and anger out would mean he would have to show weakness.
Wim tore at his shirt and made bandages for the savage that he had been fighting with and started tending to his wounds. He was trying to hold on to sanity and keeping the other man alive was the one thing he could try to do. Like his gear, he was losing himself. His mind was slipping into shear madness and had been. The lack of supplies, little food and little hunting due to the noise of migration was making the men into animals. Even worse, to much time with his own thought.
Fates had caused Wim to cross lines that he thought he would never do. He was a killer. Almost two handful of deaths and it was getting easier each time. One of them was someone he thought of as a friend and he bore the scars physically on his skin and bones. Even now, the smells of sweat, of blood, of fear, of death all filled the air and his soul.
His mission was a failure and for the first time, he felt like a failure. How could he stay in Aquillo with Sir Zane there, one of the men that his father considered a friend? The looks he got for not being in the fight from others haunted him. All because a friend had attacked him and fractured bones. Bones that would take months to heal. It hurt to walk, it hurt to swing his arm and worse when he made contact with things.
He wasn’t a fighter like Tarmen, Hunter, or Voah. They would wrap the wounds tighter and fight on. Even Islana had been able to push through the physical injuries. Wim had spent most of his life in mental pain, and trying avoiding physical pain. His scars ran deeper than what could be seen by the eyes.
He wasn’t Gonyaul able to find a silver lining to the dark clouds of life, to dance with and away from danger.
He wasn’t gifted with magical powers from the gods like the natives he met. He would have placed a straight bet that the gods were enjoying his suffering ready.
“This is what you get for trying to do the right thing for others,” he thought.
Three brutal fights in such a short period of time.
In true Wim fashion, he could not admit his actions were part of the problem. It was other peoples fault. The Duke, his father, and so on. The Brewmaster did not put up with that. Master Sadir put him in positions where he could not do that. He could have stayed in Aquillo and waited, but men that are feeling shame make choice sometimes bad ones.
When he got the savage bandaged, he loaded him on the second horse, grabbed the warrior’s spear, and climbed up behind him. Heading the way the riders had come from looking for the cloud of dust from the animals, and help for the two of them.
He doubted anything would heal his soul, but they might heal his body.