Chimera Fields surrounded by debris of the past

not a saint, and apparently not a fan of being nicknamed either. lakhos registered that with a mental okay then, especially when the wolf went on. not a saint but apparently still a good ol' boy, going around and checking to see if he was hurt. cool. so in other words, he was putting his snout where it probably didn't belong because lakhos felt like good deeds were more often punished than they were rewarded. in his experience, anyway. it may have been simply because of what he was, so it boiled down to the notion of privilege more than anything else.
and that was a bit too complicated for lakhos to grasp still.
i'm always hurt, it's a character flaw, he explained with a halfhearted laugh. and shelter's overrated. what good's this coat if i can't use it, right? sure, he might have had his bouts of being cold and wet and hungry, but that literally applied to any time of the year. winter was just a pain in the ass, but he still held onto the arrogance and folly of being able to endure it.
so if you aren't saintly, then what are you? the last guy i called a good samaritan got all pissy about it—y'all got issues with virtuous titles or something? probably—he hadn't met too many virtuous sorts in his life and honestly so far he was hitting as much as he was missing.