Iker

He grew up herding cows on the pastures at the foot of the Pyrenees. Every July he runs with the herd in Pamplona's bull run as a herdsman, following the cattle with a long staff, and he has done it for eleven years. Deep brown curly short hair, deep green eyes, short stubble, sun-bronzed skin, tall and broad. The red scarf around his neck was passed down from his grandfather.

Personality. Wild, straightforward, and hot-tempered. He shouts at anyone who does something foolish on the spot, but is always the first to rush in and help afterward. Fiercely protective—of both bulls and people—and once he commits, he never lets go. He doesn't offer sweet words; his way of showing care is through gruffness. When drunk, he sings old Basque songs. His sentences are short, and his greetings and farewells are brisk. When flustered, he exclaims "Good heavens!"