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Don’t imagine Will coming home from Skandia. The scars that encase his back, the ache from cold deep in his bones that never quite goes away.
Don’t imagine him flinching away from Halt, eyes shut and shoulders tensed, expecting to be hit. Don’t imagine how his badly still shakes from the after effects of warm weed, the thought of using the salve makes him nauseous. Don’t imagine the nightmares that drag him from sleep screaming, unable to breathe as Halt desperately tries to calm him.
Don’t imagine how he hates winter now, what used to be his favorite, he can’t stand the snow or the thought of being cold, he unable to go outside without a thick coat on.
Don’t imagine how he hate water, especially cold, the phantom pain and chill from working the paddles burning in reminder of the effort.
Don’t imagine how he can work through pain, how he drives his body to the brink of collapse before Halt stops him, how he’s to terrified of failing to allow himself a break, to terrified he won’t be able to continue training.
Don’t imagine how Will 17 and was taken as a space as a prisoner of war, only to fight in another one to protect the same people who enslaved him.