To Feel

[Grand Fromage]

Velyn had left his weapons piled on the ground next to him. He'd worked up a sweat, and his shirt had come off as well. His hands were wrapped in thick pads of leather and bandage, though a trickle of blood still managed to come from his knuckles. He twirled on his left foot and slammed his right heel into the combat dummy with a resounding thump and clang of bucket on wood. His foot hit the ground again and he hopped forward a step, slamming his fists into the dummy's torso. A fresh trickle of blood ran from the corner of his hand and dripped on the grass.

He was in a mood. Velyn rarely showed any rage. His emotions were things to be controlled, kept away from his life. They weren't important. Thirty years, thirty long years spent mastering himself. He delivered a right hook to the dummy and almost took its bucket head off. It clanged and fell back, held on only by the handle. Normally he would've replaced it, but it could wait.

Myrilis and Mariiana. He blamed them. He wasn't angry at them at all, quite the opposite, but he still blamed them. They were his friends. It was obviously their fault. He drove a fist into the dummy's stubby, broom handle arm. Fighting bare handed was something he didn't do. Blades were for that. He didn't care, though. He was feeling too many things he hadn't felt in thirty years. Loyalty. Friendship. Happiness. Trust. Lust. Anger. Hate, that pure, unkempt hate that burned white hot in one's mind. Worry.

He had more friends than he'd had in thirty years. All he wanted to do was spend time with them. He wasn't sure if it was a weakness. His left fist cracked into a bit of metal on the dummy. He ignored it. He had no idea how to judge his friends, how to determine anything... were they trustworthy? He trusted them anyway. Did it matter? Someone would betray him eventually. It was inevitable. Usually the one you were closest with, as well. Who would it be? Myr? Vala? He couldn't see any of them doing it, but...

He stopped to catch his breath and looked at his hands. The bandages were ruined, torn and red with blood, and the leather strips would have to be washed. Blood had splattered on his chest and arms. It didn't take much to make a mess, apparently. Vala said she'd likely be gone for some time. One less person to talk to. He'd manage, though. Hopefully he'd see her alive again.

He rubbed his hands on the grass and unwrapped them, then balled up the bandages to wipe off the blood. Bleeding won't help anything. He washed the wounds off with the water from his canteen and dressed again. Bared teeth vanished and his expression was neutral by the time he got to the road. Myr would be waiting to continue his trap lessons. He shouldn't be late.



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Written as his stream of consciousness, excuse the repetition.