No fool like the present one

The sun glared brightly making the other harder to see. Wim knew that he would appear like a white cloth on dark soil in their eyes. His skin had started to redden with sun burn and he envied his patient who was not burning.
“You hit him to hard,” Wim thought.

Holding the spear in his bad arm, he headed for the other riders trying to be somewhat parallel but on a slight intercept course. If they chased him, he would have to dump the man and ride hard to keep from being caught. He also knew he was in no condition to fight and barely in a condition to run from them.

Thought played through his mind about all the possibilities that could play out. He was not going to be a killer. The logistical problems like language, issues of property rights, him possibly becoming a slave, or other technical issues like food and clothes or being responsible for the man danced on the fringes of his thoughts to be pushed back by his desire to return him to his people.

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