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"[center][b]The Weeping Scar\nChapter 4[/b]\n[i]By TheSpiralAim[/i][/center]\n\nFailure never felt good. Martha knew it wasn't possible to try to help make the world and not fail occasionally. Facts never soothed the sting.\n\nSlate Street smelled like rain and smoke. The chill of the evening had settled in, and people were burning wood to keep warm. The echo over her boots was sharp on the hard walls of the building fronts. A faint scent of incense carried out from the temple. Vespers had started. A noise by Sugar and Root's baker turned her ears towards the establishment. Old Jinna ran the place, and it wasn't that late. She was moving some flour or other goods, given the weighted sound.\n\nMartha arrived at the temple to the soothing chants and mellow incense of the vespers service. The doors to the ward were open, and astringent medical balms mixed in for a sterile scent to the room. It drowned out the faint hint of lavender soap and ratten musk of her beloved Balan. His habit of standing perfectly still in a dark spot was impressive.\n\nShe started to walk counterclockwise around the circle of benches. Many ratten and chiroptern attended vespers; to them it was morning. Her fur stood up as warm arms found her. So, Balan was at the pillar today. She hated how hard it was to see him and how obvious it was afterward. Another part of her mind danced at the edge of where she wanted this hold to go.\n\n\"Evening, Martha,\" Balan said. His voice was low and gravelly.\n\n\"Evening, Balan. Doing your best impression of a Jaegerclaw tonight?\" Martha replied. \n\n\"Without the evisceration,\" he replied with a dry tone.\n\nMartha stared at him, not because his attempt at humor was unwanted, but because she wasn't sure if he was teaching or joking. \n\nBalan looked embarrassed as he met her eyes. His fur caught the light wrong, and the grey looked more swamp-green than it should. Naturally crooked whiskers twitched as he gauged her response. \n\n\"Father Tavren was looking for you. I think I saw him slip into his office,\" he said.\n\nThe image of Nicolae subtly moving anywhere was difficult to make real in her head. How does a bat nearly twice her height *slip* anywhere? \n\n\"Thank you, Balan. I'll go speak with him shortly. By any chance could you stop by my cell tonight?\" Martha asked.\n\n\"I can try. There is a pack of harpies on the cliff face opposite the city I want to keep an eye on. I might check to see if it's a staging nest or a flock resting point,\" he said and recentered his gaze on her.\n\n\"That's fine; keeping people safe is more important. Take care, Balan,\" she said.\n\nWarmth and the scent of him filled her senses. He had wrapped his arms around her and lifted her slightly. The size of the ratten always shocked her. Martha hugged back before she wriggled free with alarming ease. Shortly after, Balan found a new spot to become furniture.\n\nMartha made her way to Father Tavren's office. She entered without bothering to knock. Inside was a room best described as 'mostly organized.' Neat stacks of books near his desk were arranged alphabetically. Along the wall, his bookshelves were empty. Piles of papers were organized but homeless on the writing surface of his desk. At the corner of the upper desk, next to the candle, was a fragrant fruit bun.\n\nTavren smelled like stress and ink and a trace of the incense he had likely handled earlier. One tall bat ear swiveled towards her. His wing-fingers tucked neatly so he could write with his thumb and index finger.\n\n\"How did things go at Black Quarry?\" he asked. Tavren's voice was subdued and soft, but deep.\n\n\"Poorly. One survives from the inn. The bandits got away, mostly. Two Scar Guards got hurt, nothing serious. I'm sure they'll be in here before the night's over, though, for a checkup. You know, Sorin, no one is allowed to 'sleep it off,'\" she said.\n\n\"That's what makes him one of the good sergeants in the guard. So everyone at the inn was killed?\" Tavren asked.\n\n\"No, the inn is gone. The bandits used mining charges to blow a chunk of cliff into it,\" Martha replied.\n\nTavren paused his writing and looked up at her—with his eyes, not just his ears. \"That *is* bad news. I suppose Lord Rodericht will have no trouble buying the land there now,\" Tavren said with disappointment bleeding into his tone.\n\n\"Mm… Nothing to be done about that. I guess we'll just have to hope he builds a new temple there. Is Iva awake?\" Martha asked.\n\nTavren's face said a lot when she attempted humor about Lord Rodericht. That man was *not* going to be putting anything to encourage virtue in that space. \n\n\"Vessel Kiiliva is napping in the infirmary,\" he said.\n\nThat was a good place for her. She would wake up if anyone came in there screaming and get right to work. A waft of blood suddenly entered her nose, and she turned towards it. In the doorway, a large black cat had a rat in its mouth. Its head was barely short of her chest.\n\n\"Big ca--\" Martha planted her back foot when the feline nuzzled at her side. In a slick motion it moved to be in front of Tavren, where it dropped a rat.\n\n\"This is Yōuyǐng. Inquisitor Weisstrom's companion,\" Tavren said. He petted the cat as best he could with his wing arm, then fetched the rat with his foot and moved it to a rubbish bin.\n\n\"Inquisitor?\" Martha asked, irritation edged into the word.\n\nTavren looked much more tired suddenly. \"Here to determine whether we are heretics or not,\" he said.\n\nThe worry and stress plumed from Tavren, much stronger than before. It annoyed Martha; she knew she smelled like ratten fury to Tavren.\n\nHeresy?!\n\nThey were using canon scripture! Her ears went flat at the thought. \"Where is the Inquisitor? I wish to speak with them,\" she said. The restraint in her voice was clear.\n\nA guarded look was given to her by Tavren. \"Don't say anything that will get us burned at the stake,\" he said.\n\n\"What could I possibly say that might warrant that, Nicolae?\"\n\nTavren visibly winced.\n\nKhahava's grace is for everyone. There is nothing she cannot achieve with some clear thought and a slowed heart rate. In through her nose, out through her mouth, and Martha let out a soft sigh afterward. \"I won't antagonize the inquisitor, Tavren. Has anything else been happening?\" she asked.\n\n\"Nothing new,\" Tavren replied. He had become visibly calmer after she centered herself.\n\nMartha nodded to that and pivoted to leave the room. \"Excuse me, kitty,\" she politely said and stepped around the black beast.\n\n
-
\n\nHe wasn't in the library, the infirmary, the cloister, or the nave. What would an inquisitor even be doing at this hour? The room he had been assigned was empty as well, which was unexpected. That left the undercroft.\n\nWell-traveled stairs led down into a small landing and a large hallway. The air here was fresher than one might expect for an underground area. A set of water-flow and air-circulation runes they installed helped that immensely. A blessing for her nose.\n\nOn her right, the second door down was the training room. Not very large, but large enough to do sword work, spear work, and footwork drills. Often for self-defense, the paladins trained elsewhere. Mainly, it was used to train divine magics safely. The door to the room glided open, and the smell of exertion and sound of a rattling target followed. \n\nAh, so this is where he was.\n\nThe buck was built like he hauled barrels of grain around for fun. He was more than two heads taller than her and had large hands and sturdy shoulders.\n\nMartha's mind wandered. This buck was the best kind of build that could assert—covenant Martha. Slipping into fantasy only made it harder.\n\nSo, the inquisitor was a capricum. That would make him easy to find in the future. Brown fur covered most of him, with near-black fur at his nose tip, the center of his chest, and his wrists at his hands. Cut and polishing marks on his horns alerted Martha to a fact she hadn't thought about. Horns must grow in like hair or front teeth. Occasional shaving or trimming was needed. Or, in her case, chewing on hard stuff. Same idea.\n\nThe air pulsed when he struck the dummy with his odd-looking mace. It was a flattened bronze sphere rubbed into several lobes. What kingdom produced those?\n\n\"Inquisitor?\" Martha asked. The word hung in the air.\n\nThe buck flinched. Apparently she had snuck up on him. A clop and a pivot. Capricum eyes met her red eyes, and he slid his mace into its belt loop.\n\n\"You must be Vessel Martha. I am Fath--Inquisitor Weisstrom. You're quite famous around Karpatia you know,\" he said.\n\n\"News to me. I am merely a ratten trying to bring mercy where it is needed. What of you?\" she asked.\n\nWeisstrom paused, then chuckled. \"Your Weeping folk are so candid. I was worried you would be too concerned, to be honest,\" he said.\n\n\"I'd hope so. Our mission here is to keep the living alive and spread the word of Khahava,\" Martha replied.\n\n\"It certainly appears that way. You asked about me. You'll have to accept my apologies. I didn't mean to deflect. Decker Weisstrom is my full name. Until a couple of months ago, I was a missionary on Yǒngguó,\" he explained.\n\n\"Yongguo? I am not familiar with that kingdom. However, a missionary turned inquisitor? Whose toes did you step on?\" she asked. Her tone was wry, since missionary work was a lot more glamorous in her eyes.\n\n\"Yǒngguó, you have to say it like that. Otherwise it sounds like your tongue is being held still. You might know the kingdom as Xīzhōu. To answer your second question, complaints from abroad demanded a neutral third party to investigate. When you have the time, I'd like to discuss the Pain Rituals,\" he said.\n\nThis buck was polite and curious. That was a good sign. \"Of course. Archpriest Stilka and I discovered the Pain Rituals about fifty years ago. I was finding the edges of it, and Stilka helped with observations and record keeping. It is important to note he also came up with the selection process,\" Martha replied.\n\n\"That's a good place to start. Tell me about the selection process,\" Decker said.\n\nDecker seemed to be watching her more than listening. Why was that? \n\n\"There are three trials. Each one is designed to push the vessel initiate away. We also make sure they truly understand how miserable it will be. No trickery. I cannot have people unintentionally going into the ritual. The first step is a lashing from a whip. Not a stage whip, but a whip used for civic punishment. If the initiate doesn't metabolize and accept the pain but breaks or merely 'endures,' they fail. I should note, most initiates fail here,\" Martha said.\n\nThere was thought in Decker's eyes as they focused on her, then away from her. It was impossible to gauge what the buck was thinking. His face gave her nothing.\n\n\"So, no one is forced into it then? They aren't merely offered as some kind of perverse prayer? Vessel Kiiliva mentioned you had knowledge of the tangible good these rituals do. Can you go over what those are?\" he asked.\n\n\"Stillborn rates have nearly vanished since we hit a third vessel forty years ago. Those with chronic injury find love for life again. Each pain vessel added has made many difficult healing processes—magical and mundane—more likely to succeed. I will have an acolyte send you a copy of the records,\" Martha responded. That was an easy thing to show; it was stuff Martha was very proud of.\n\n\"This implies you kept records of these things beforehand… why?\" he asked.\n\nA wave of anger danced through her, was caught, tied into a knot, and swallowed. So many questions, he couldn't even rest on something for a moment, could he? \"It isn't possible to know how well to help anyone without baseline knowledge of the ills suffered now, is it? We've had to gather it ourselves mostly. The local civic offices also help occasionally,\" she said.\n\nThe anger changed color as she had to inform herself. Decker had shown no ill intention yet. Despite his prodding and impassive demeanor, his confident scent lacked the mad edge of someone on a power trip.\n\nThe man hefted his mace out of the belt hoop again. He turned towards the test dummy again.\n\n\"Public good is not heresy, and you clearly know that, Vessel Martha. I look forward to that report. Seeing a meaningful difference made in the world will be a refreshing thing to read. I hope the rest of the clergy is as spirited as you are,\" he said softly.\n\nThat was not what Martha had expected. A heavy smacking rang out when the dummy was struck with the mace. The thud was too hollow to be mundane; it was imbued with some kind of magic. \n\n\"I'll go see if an acolyte is available. Thereafter, if you need me, I'll be in the bathhouse across the street. I have to get this blood and soot out of my fur,\" she said.\n\n\"I wasn't going to ask about the hole in your dress. It was recently healed. Your record stated that you cannot heal,\" he said, pausing to hit the dummy again. \"So who healed you?\"\n\n\"One of the boons of the pain ritual is a slow and steady regenerative magic at all times. That will be in the report too. You take care, Inquisitor Weisstrom,\" she said and turned quickly to leave.\n\nThat buck could make her life difficult for a few reasons. In many ways she tickled many of her fancies; that alone was frustrating. Worse, he wanted to spar with her on theology. That could be *far* more distracting. \n\nShe passed through the halls and caught Acolyte Mihai, a young ratten boy of middle social status. \"Mihai, how are you with archiving work?\" she asked.\n\n\"I can do it, Vessel, if you don't mind poor handwriting,\" he replied.\n\nMartha had to consider that. Not the best time to give a lesson to a junior clergy member.\n\n\"Can you write a note for Acolyte Viorica to find me in the library in the morning and put it under her door?\" Martha asked.\n\nThe ratten boy looked crestfallen since responsibility was being taken from him. That never made Martha feel good, and if it weren't for an inquisitor, she wouldn't have done it. However, ego training was still something that had to be done to everyone.\n\n\"Yes, Vessel, I can take your robe to the tailors too if you'd like,\" he said.\n\nBold to notice her wound like that. This ratten boy will do well in the temple. \"Of course, I'll leave it by my cell door. Thank you, acolyte. Khahava's blessings on you this evening,\" she said. The tone was genuine praise.\n\nMihai lit up and dashed off to get parchment. \n\nA simple task for now; she'd have to get him handwriting lessons if he thought it was a problem for the task. Now, it was time to get this ruined robe off and get clean.", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "
The Weeping Scar
Chapter 4
By TheSpiralAim


Failure never felt good. Martha knew it wasn't possible to try to help make the world and not fail occasionally. Facts never soothed the sting.

Slate Street smelled like rain and smoke. The chill of the evening had settled in, and people were burning wood to keep warm. The echo over her boots was sharp on the hard walls of the building fronts. A faint scent of incense carried out from the temple. Vespers had started. A noise by Sugar and Root's baker turned her ears towards the establishment. Old Jinna ran the place, and it wasn't that late. She was moving some flour or other goods, given the weighted sound.

Martha arrived at the temple to the soothing chants and mellow incense of the vespers service. The doors to the ward were open, and astringent medical balms mixed in for a sterile scent to the room. It drowned out the faint hint of lavender soap and ratten musk of her beloved Balan. His habit of standing perfectly still in a dark spot was impressive.

She started to walk counterclockwise around the circle of benches. Many ratten and chiroptern attended vespers; to them it was morning. Her fur stood up as warm arms found her. So, Balan was at the pillar today. She hated how hard it was to see him and how obvious it was afterward. Another part of her mind danced at the edge of where she wanted this hold to go.

"Evening, Martha," Balan said. His voice was low and gravelly.

"Evening, Balan. Doing your best impression of a Jaegerclaw tonight?" Martha replied.

"Without the evisceration," he replied with a dry tone.

Martha stared at him, not because his attempt at humor was unwanted, but because she wasn't sure if he was teaching or joking.

Balan looked embarrassed as he met her eyes. His fur caught the light wrong, and the grey looked more swamp-green than it should. Naturally crooked whiskers twitched as he gauged her response.

"Father Tavren was looking for you. I think I saw him slip into his office," he said.

The image of Nicolae subtly moving anywhere was difficult to make real in her head. How does a bat nearly twice her height *slip* anywhere?

"Thank you, Balan. I'll go speak with him shortly. By any chance could you stop by my cell tonight?" Martha asked.

"I can try. There is a pack of harpies on the cliff face opposite the city I want to keep an eye on. I might check to see if it's a staging nest or a flock resting point," he said and recentered his gaze on her.

"That's fine; keeping people safe is more important. Take care, Balan," she said.

Warmth and the scent of him filled her senses. He had wrapped his arms around her and lifted her slightly. The size of the ratten always shocked her. Martha hugged back before she wriggled free with alarming ease. Shortly after, Balan found a new spot to become furniture.

Martha made her way to Father Tavren's office. She entered without bothering to knock. Inside was a room best described as 'mostly organized.' Neat stacks of books near his desk were arranged alphabetically. Along the wall, his bookshelves were empty. Piles of papers were organized but homeless on the writing surface of his desk. At the corner of the upper desk, next to the candle, was a fragrant fruit bun.

Tavren smelled like stress and ink and a trace of the incense he had likely handled earlier. One tall bat ear swiveled towards her. His wing-fingers tucked neatly so he could write with his thumb and index finger.

"How did things go at Black Quarry?" he asked. Tavren's voice was subdued and soft, but deep.

"Poorly. One survives from the inn. The bandits got away, mostly. Two Scar Guards got hurt, nothing serious. I'm sure they'll be in here before the night's over, though, for a checkup. You know, Sorin, no one is allowed to 'sleep it off,'" she said.

"That's what makes him one of the good sergeants in the guard. So everyone at the inn was killed?" Tavren asked.

"No, the inn is gone. The bandits used mining charges to blow a chunk of cliff into it," Martha replied.

Tavren paused his writing and looked up at her—with his eyes, not just his ears. "That *is* bad news. I suppose Lord Rodericht will have no trouble buying the land there now," Tavren said with disappointment bleeding into his tone.

"Mm… Nothing to be done about that. I guess we'll just have to hope he builds a new temple there. Is Iva awake?" Martha asked.

Tavren's face said a lot when she attempted humor about Lord Rodericht. That man was *not* going to be putting anything to encourage virtue in that space.

"Vessel Kiiliva is napping in the infirmary," he said.

That was a good place for her. She would wake up if anyone came in there screaming and get right to work. A waft of blood suddenly entered her nose, and she turned towards it. In the doorway, a large black cat had a rat in its mouth. Its head was barely short of her chest.

"Big ca--" Martha planted her back foot when the feline nuzzled at her side. In a slick motion it moved to be in front of Tavren, where it dropped a rat.

"This is Yōuyǐng. Inquisitor Weisstrom's companion," Tavren said. He petted the cat as best he could with his wing arm, then fetched the rat with his foot and moved it to a rubbish bin.

"Inquisitor?" Martha asked, irritation edged into the word.

Tavren looked much more tired suddenly. "Here to determine whether we are heretics or not," he said.

The worry and stress plumed from Tavren, much stronger than before. It annoyed Martha; she knew she smelled like ratten fury to Tavren.

Heresy?!

They were using canon scripture! Her ears went flat at the thought. "Where is the Inquisitor? I wish to speak with them," she said. The restraint in her voice was clear.

A guarded look was given to her by Tavren. "Don't say anything that will get us burned at the stake," he said.

"What could I possibly say that might warrant that, Nicolae?"

Tavren visibly winced.

Khahava's grace is for everyone. There is nothing she cannot achieve with some clear thought and a slowed heart rate. In through her nose, out through her mouth, and Martha let out a soft sigh afterward. "I won't antagonize the inquisitor, Tavren. Has anything else been happening?" she asked.

"Nothing new," Tavren replied. He had become visibly calmer after she centered herself.

Martha nodded to that and pivoted to leave the room. "Excuse me, kitty," she politely said and stepped around the black beast.

<div style="text-align:center">-</div>

He wasn't in the library, the infirmary, the cloister, or the nave. What would an inquisitor even be doing at this hour? The room he had been assigned was empty as well, which was unexpected. That left the undercroft.

Well-traveled stairs led down into a small landing and a large hallway. The air here was fresher than one might expect for an underground area. A set of water-flow and air-circulation runes they installed helped that immensely. A blessing for her nose.

On her right, the second door down was the training room. Not very large, but large enough to do sword work, spear work, and footwork drills. Often for self-defense, the paladins trained elsewhere. Mainly, it was used to train divine magics safely. The door to the room glided open, and the smell of exertion and sound of a rattling target followed.

Ah, so this is where he was.

The buck was built like he hauled barrels of grain around for fun. He was more than two heads taller than her and had large hands and sturdy shoulders.

Martha's mind wandered. This buck was the best kind of build that could assert—covenant Martha. Slipping into fantasy only made it harder.

So, the inquisitor was a capricum. That would make him easy to find in the future. Brown fur covered most of him, with near-black fur at his nose tip, the center of his chest, and his wrists at his hands. Cut and polishing marks on his horns alerted Martha to a fact she hadn't thought about. Horns must grow in like hair or front teeth. Occasional shaving or trimming was needed. Or, in her case, chewing on hard stuff. Same idea.

The air pulsed when he struck the dummy with his odd-looking mace. It was a flattened bronze sphere rubbed into several lobes. What kingdom produced those?

"Inquisitor?" Martha asked. The word hung in the air.

The buck flinched. Apparently she had snuck up on him. A clop and a pivot. Capricum eyes met her red eyes, and he slid his mace into its belt loop.

"You must be Vessel Martha. I am Fath--Inquisitor Weisstrom. You're quite famous around Karpatia you know," he said.

"News to me. I am merely a ratten trying to bring mercy where it is needed. What of you?" she asked.

Weisstrom paused, then chuckled. "Your Weeping folk are so candid. I was worried you would be too concerned, to be honest," he said.

"I'd hope so. Our mission here is to keep the living alive and spread the word of Khahava," Martha replied.

"It certainly appears that way. You asked about me. You'll have to accept my apologies. I didn't mean to deflect. Decker Weisstrom is my full name. Until a couple of months ago, I was a missionary on Yǒngguó," he explained.

"Yongguo? I am not familiar with that kingdom. However, a missionary turned inquisitor? Whose toes did you step on?" she asked. Her tone was wry, since missionary work was a lot more glamorous in her eyes.

"Yǒngguó, you have to say it like that. Otherwise it sounds like your tongue is being held still. You might know the kingdom as Xīzhōu. To answer your second question, complaints from abroad demanded a neutral third party to investigate. When you have the time, I'd like to discuss the Pain Rituals," he said.

This buck was polite and curious. That was a good sign. "Of course. Archpriest Stilka and I discovered the Pain Rituals about fifty years ago. I was finding the edges of it, and Stilka helped with observations and record keeping. It is important to note he also came up with the selection process," Martha replied.

"That's a good place to start. Tell me about the selection process," Decker said.

Decker seemed to be watching her more than listening. Why was that?

"There are three trials. Each one is designed to push the vessel initiate away. We also make sure they truly understand how miserable it will be. No trickery. I cannot have people unintentionally going into the ritual. The first step is a lashing from a whip. Not a stage whip, but a whip used for civic punishment. If the initiate doesn't metabolize and accept the pain but breaks or merely 'endures,' they fail. I should note, most initiates fail here," Martha said.

There was thought in Decker's eyes as they focused on her, then away from her. It was impossible to gauge what the buck was thinking. His face gave her nothing.

"So, no one is forced into it then? They aren't merely offered as some kind of perverse prayer? Vessel Kiiliva mentioned you had knowledge of the tangible good these rituals do. Can you go over what those are?" he asked.

"Stillborn rates have nearly vanished since we hit a third vessel forty years ago. Those with chronic injury find love for life again. Each pain vessel added has made many difficult healing processes—magical and mundane—more likely to succeed. I will have an acolyte send you a copy of the records," Martha responded. That was an easy thing to show; it was stuff Martha was very proud of.

"This implies you kept records of these things beforehand… why?" he asked.

A wave of anger danced through her, was caught, tied into a knot, and swallowed. So many questions, he couldn't even rest on something for a moment, could he? "It isn't possible to know how well to help anyone without baseline knowledge of the ills suffered now, is it? We've had to gather it ourselves mostly. The local civic offices also help occasionally," she said.

The anger changed color as she had to inform herself. Decker had shown no ill intention yet. Despite his prodding and impassive demeanor, his confident scent lacked the mad edge of someone on a power trip.

The man hefted his mace out of the belt hoop again. He turned towards the test dummy again.

"Public good is not heresy, and you clearly know that, Vessel Martha. I look forward to that report. Seeing a meaningful difference made in the world will be a refreshing thing to read. I hope the rest of the clergy is as spirited as you are," he said softly.

That was not what Martha had expected. A heavy smacking rang out when the dummy was struck with the mace. The thud was too hollow to be mundane; it was imbued with some kind of magic.

"I'll go see if an acolyte is available. Thereafter, if you need me, I'll be in the bathhouse across the street. I have to get this blood and soot out of my fur," she said.

"I wasn't going to ask about the hole in your dress. It was recently healed. Your record stated that you cannot heal," he said, pausing to hit the dummy again. "So who healed you?"

"One of the boons of the pain ritual is a slow and steady regenerative magic at all times. That will be in the report too. You take care, Inquisitor Weisstrom," she said and turned quickly to leave.

That buck could make her life difficult for a few reasons. In many ways she tickled many of her fancies; that alone was frustrating. Worse, he wanted to spar with her on theology. That could be *far* more distracting.

She passed through the halls and caught Acolyte Mihai, a young ratten boy of middle social status. "Mihai, how are you with archiving work?" she asked.

"I can do it, Vessel, if you don't mind poor handwriting," he replied.

Martha had to consider that. Not the best time to give a lesson to a junior clergy member.

"Can you write a note for Acolyte Viorica to find me in the library in the morning and put it under her door?" Martha asked.

The ratten boy looked crestfallen since responsibility was being taken from him. That never made Martha feel good, and if it weren't for an inquisitor, she wouldn't have done it. However, ego training was still something that had to be done to everyone.

"Yes, Vessel, I can take your robe to the tailors too if you'd like," he said.

Bold to notice her wound like that. This ratten boy will do well in the temple. "Of course, I'll leave it by my cell door. Thank you, acolyte. Khahava's blessings on you this evening," she said. The tone was genuine praise.

Mihai lit up and dashed off to get parchment.

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