“Might be there was a lot to like about him, once you broke through the gritty crust.” Rikke gave a sigh as she watched him squirm under Isern’s boot. “Might be he had a collection of interesting bird skulls, or an excellent singing voice, or a lot of love for his sadly passed sister that caused him to weep at the quiet times.” Rikke looked at the rest of the men, all of them staring over with wide eyes. “But there’s so much to feel sorry for in the world. Can’t waste too much on folk who act like pricks.”
