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Click, tap, pain. That was the rhythm of his walking.
If Glokta had been given the opportunity to torture any one man, any one at all, he would surely have chosen the inventor of steps.
The heat was getting into the leg now, and the pain was subsiding. Not gone. Never gone. But better. A lot better. Glokta began to feel almost as if he could face another day.
“Life—the way it really is—is a battle not between good and bad, but between bad and worse.”
Glokta sat, wedged into the embrasure with his back against the stones and his left leg stretched out in front of him—a searing, pulsing furnace of pain. He expected pain of course, every moment of every day. But this is something just a bit special. Every breath was a rattling moan through rigid jaws. Every tiniest movement was a mighty task.
As I read this I'm having one of my worst pain days in a while...
