shorter.” Havoc pulled his horse up
in front of the Temple and dismounted.
“Bad luck to kill a priest, you know,
especially when it’s a priest of Luck.” Victory smirked as he
dismounted. Turning, he lifted Jala down from the horse as
well.
“If I kill him, I have a reason. And if
Fortune has a problem with my reason, he can bloody well take it up
with me in person.”
Jala watched the two of them silently and
followed Victory up the stairs to the Temple door. Although made of
solid dark wood, the Temple door looked worn. There were faint
images on it, as if it had once been carved, but they had faded
past recognition, and she couldn’t tell what it had been a picture
of.
“How about you let me judge his character.
I’m not quite as harsh of a critic as you are and chances are I’ll
find fewer reasons to dislike him. You have gotten rather
protective in a single night. It’s really not like you at all,
Havoc,” Victory said with a glance toward the Firym before pushing
the door open.
“Kid has had it rough enough. You asked me
for compassion and you are getting it. Why are you complaining?”
Havoc asked, with an annoyed look.
She followed them wordlessly into the
Temple’s dim interior, quietly hoping Havoc didn’t like the priest.
Not enough to kill him, but enough that he wouldn’t leave her
here.
“I’m not complaining. I’m simply not used to
your caring about such matters,” Victory clarified.
“I care, just not as much other times,” Havoc
objected. He looked around the main room and back to Victory.
“Should be a bit more attentive toward their own Temple, shouldn’t
they? How are they going to keep track of a small child when they
don’t even notice when people have entered the building?”
“Patience, Havoc!” Victory chided with a bit
of amusement.
The door in the back of the hall pushed open
as he spoke and an older man made his way through it. He was
dressed in old, but tidy robes, and his hair was gone to white with
age. He moved slowly and his expression seemed kind as he
approached.
“Oh he will never keep up with her,” Havoc
scoffed as he watched the man approach. The Firym looked ready to
leave at just the sight of the priest.
Victory elbowed him into silence and smiled
to the approaching priest. “Greetings, Father,” he called.
“And a warm welcome to you, Son. How may our
Temple be of help to you and yours?” The old man replied.
She thought she heard Havoc mutter something
but couldn’t make out the words. Moving closer, she stood beside
him and gazed up, hoping he would pick her up and leave this place.
It wasn’t that the Temple looked like a bad place. She simply
didn’t want them to leave her. They had known her father, and that
made them more than strangers.
“I would have a word in private with you, if
there is no objection,” Victory replied smoothly. She saw Havoc’s
mouth fall open to object, but a simple look from Victory kept him
silent. The old priest nodded, and she watched him and Victory
disappear back through the door.
Havoc gave a sigh and dropped heavily onto a
pew and looked to her. “You know he did that so I couldn’t find
something wrong with him, right?” He asked with another sigh. She
nodded and sat down on the pew opposite of him. She split her gaze
between Havoc and the door and folded her hands in her lap. She
still silently prayed that they wouldn’t leave her here. “You are
tough, kid, I’ll give you that. Most would be wailing right now.”
He stretched his feet out in front of him and crossed them and
leaned fully back on the bench.
“I think I ran out of tears. I still feel
like crying, but they just ran out,” she replied quietly. In truth,
her head ached from all of her tears the day before. Her stomach
felt wrong, and her throat still felt tight. She didn’t think she
had ever felt this miserable.
He looked at her and nodded. “I’ve had days
like that, a lot of them lately. Seems like the world
in front of the Temple and dismounted.
“Bad luck to kill a priest, you know,
especially when it’s a priest of Luck.” Victory smirked as he
dismounted. Turning, he lifted Jala down from the horse as
well.
“If I kill him, I have a reason. And if
Fortune has a problem with my reason, he can bloody well take it up
with me in person.”
Jala watched the two of them silently and
followed Victory up the stairs to the Temple door. Although made of
solid dark wood, the Temple door looked worn. There were faint
images on it, as if it had once been carved, but they had faded
past recognition, and she couldn’t tell what it had been a picture
of.
“How about you let me judge his character.
I’m not quite as harsh of a critic as you are and chances are I’ll
find fewer reasons to dislike him. You have gotten rather
protective in a single night. It’s really not like you at all,
Havoc,” Victory said with a glance toward the Firym before pushing
the door open.
“Kid has had it rough enough. You asked me
for compassion and you are getting it. Why are you complaining?”
Havoc asked, with an annoyed look.
She followed them wordlessly into the
Temple’s dim interior, quietly hoping Havoc didn’t like the priest.
Not enough to kill him, but enough that he wouldn’t leave her
here.
“I’m not complaining. I’m simply not used to
your caring about such matters,” Victory clarified.
“I care, just not as much other times,” Havoc
objected. He looked around the main room and back to Victory.
“Should be a bit more attentive toward their own Temple, shouldn’t
they? How are they going to keep track of a small child when they
don’t even notice when people have entered the building?”
“Patience, Havoc!” Victory chided with a bit
of amusement.
The door in the back of the hall pushed open
as he spoke and an older man made his way through it. He was
dressed in old, but tidy robes, and his hair was gone to white with
age. He moved slowly and his expression seemed kind as he
approached.
“Oh he will never keep up with her,” Havoc
scoffed as he watched the man approach. The Firym looked ready to
leave at just the sight of the priest.
Victory elbowed him into silence and smiled
to the approaching priest. “Greetings, Father,” he called.
“And a warm welcome to you, Son. How may our
Temple be of help to you and yours?” The old man replied.
She thought she heard Havoc mutter something
but couldn’t make out the words. Moving closer, she stood beside
him and gazed up, hoping he would pick her up and leave this place.
It wasn’t that the Temple looked like a bad place. She simply
didn’t want them to leave her. They had known her father, and that
made them more than strangers.
“I would have a word in private with you, if
there is no objection,” Victory replied smoothly. She saw Havoc’s
mouth fall open to object, but a simple look from Victory kept him
silent. The old priest nodded, and she watched him and Victory
disappear back through the door.
Havoc gave a sigh and dropped heavily onto a
pew and looked to her. “You know he did that so I couldn’t find
something wrong with him, right?” He asked with another sigh. She
nodded and sat down on the pew opposite of him. She split her gaze
between Havoc and the door and folded her hands in her lap. She
still silently prayed that they wouldn’t leave her here. “You are
tough, kid, I’ll give you that. Most would be wailing right now.”
He stretched his feet out in front of him and crossed them and
leaned fully back on the bench.
“I think I ran out of tears. I still feel
like crying, but they just ran out,” she replied quietly. In truth,
her head ached from all of her tears the day before. Her stomach
felt wrong, and her throat still felt tight. She didn’t think she
had ever felt this miserable.
He looked at her and nodded. “I’ve had days
like that, a lot of them lately. Seems like the world
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