It was a strange thing, to largely being able to ignore pain, but keenly aware of an irritation. It was the same with being afraid. He didn’t really get afraid anymore, but he felt concerns and worries. Those feelings were like cousins, or seemed rooted in the same bucket of… stuff.
The Friar hadn’t slept in months. Instead, he walked and prayed. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with someone wandering the countryside. Sometime with a family that he just happened upon. It didn’t really matter. He just walked and walked and walked. He was supposed to tend to the fringe anyway, so he did just that. All the while, the back of his mind replayed the last market over and over. It shouldn’t hurt, this feeling of being alone again. But it did smart a bit.
Dwelling on it wasn’t something the preacher could afford, so he just keeps walking.