I let them all walk ahead of me. I didn't want to feel his eyes bearing into my back, so I meandered behind, staring at the worn stone floor.
I didn't mean to, but every so often, I would glance up at his back-- mostly exposed, despite the armor he wore.
I hadn't noticed the stripes.
Scars and welts both new and old, fat and thin, littered his back. Two years' worth of whippings. Two years' worth of pain, and no one to salve his wounds.
And I thought punishment from Migelo was bad.