And even though he was the man’s battler, Leon suspected that Mace would agree. Busy trying to follow tracks through the heavy woods, Leon kept his eyes focused on the ground and tried really hard to ignore the man riding behind him. It was next to impossible. Jasar whined nonstop. He wanted to take breaks, he wanted to ride slower, he wanted to ride faster, he wanted cooked meals, he wanted quick snacks. He wanted to stop well before dusk and go again long after dawn. If it weren’t for Mace, Leon would have gutted him long ago and buried the body. He even yelled at his battler, berating Mace constantly, which struck Leon as one of the stupidest things anyone could ever do. A battler at the best of times radiated an aura of hate that was draining to everyone around them. A pissed-off battler was a thousand times worse. Mace walked behind them, leading the packhorse and exuding a loathing strong enough to nearly wilt leaves. Leon had a desperate headache from it, and even Ril seemed affected.
