Merrin's voice snapped him out of it, and abruptly Kendath realized that his brooding stare had been boring a hole through the opposite wall for the past three minutes. He stared at her blankly for a long while before shifting his gaze to the pallid skin at her ankle, which now sported ugly blotches of internal bleeding. The priestess had better hurry if she valued her physical well-being.

She returned as if cued by his silent threat, leading a balding cleric. The man smiled at Merrin and knelt down to begin examining her injury. A frown line creased his forehead. "How did this happen?" he asked, this time with a sharp edge.

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Merrin glanced quickly at Kendath and then at Adanil, but replied hesitantly nonetheless. "I - we - were fleeing the undead." Her fingers tightened convulsively around a fold of sheet as he probed further. No other expression of discomfort was evident except a slight breathlessness in her voice as Merrin continued. "Their blades are a thing to be avoided."

What would she say if they asked more? The time travel aspect would seem ludicrous, Merrin knew, and more than that they could not afford to tamper with history any more than was necessary. Merrin glanced again at Kendath.

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Kendath did respond to Merrin's tacit plea, though perhaps not in a way she would have preferred. "Is it procedure to interrogate first, then distribute salvation if it suits your purpose?" he snapped.

The priestess flushed, and the gruff old cleric turned penetrating gray eyes on the offender. "I would advise you to watch your tongue, good sir," he replied curtly. He went back to studying Merrin. His frown line only deepened, as though he was trying to piece something together. At length he nodded approval and laid weathered hands over her torn ankle. A soft silver light washed outward from his palms, bathing her injury in a soothing glow. Tiny specks of light that resembled water droplets swirled around the gash before coalescing, setting upon it with healing grace.

A moment later, her wound was completely healed. The cleric sat back with a weary sigh. "There you have it, Mistress Dragonrider. The wound of the flesh is healed, but..." He paused, and suddenly he looked very much like a certain Druid. "...the wounds of your soul are far deeper." And here he turned his troubled gaze upon Adanil as well.

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Merrin's death grip on the unfortunate sheet crumpled in her hand relaxed, but she too looked uneasily at Adanil and then at the cleric. Wounds of the soul? "I thank you - but can you say no more?" she queried hesitantly. Or was he merely employing rhetoric to indicate that the undead were not finished with them?

Why did it seem as though she were a target in both the present and the past, Merrin wondered, and concluded that faith came with a certain amount of risk.

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Kendath was watching this all with an undercurrent of disgust under his customary impassivity. Wounds of the soul... why did every balding idiot out there have to sound like his grandmother?

For the most part, and he couldn't say that he blamed them, both cleric and priestess ignored his existence as they straightened to speak with Merrin and Adanil. "You are welcome to stay as long as you wish," the cleric said, extending an altrustic smile Merrin's way.

Kendath shot a glare at Merrin that stated in no uncertain terms of what she could and couldn't respond with.

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Merrin, who knew quite well what she could and couldn't say, ignored him. "We thank you for your hospitality," she replied with visible reluctance, getting to her feet. "And your help - I confess I know few healing skills - but we cannot stay."

The white walls beckoned, pleading with her to remain. With difficulty Merrin kept her longing from showing on her face. "The gods ever watch over you," she offered quietly, holding out a hand.

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(hello, LDM, don't forget Lich)

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Made by Lembas

Sorry I couldn't post yesterday--I literally spent the entire day doing chores.

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Since entering the temple, Adanil had felt a lightening of heart--a relief from the pain he had felt since the night before. He had been able to forget about it while admiring the city, but it was still there. In the temple--in the place of the gods--his heart felt truly lighter. The very air itself seemed to be more wholesome than it was outside.

And after one fleeting moment, it all seemed lost on Kendath. Couldn't the Dragonrider feel the presence and blessing of the gods? The entire building seemed to tingle with it, yet he seemed not to notice, or to close himself away from it. How could a Dragonrider do that and still call himself a Renegade? The Renegades were supposed to be those who were in close accord with the gods. Merrin seemed to have no problem with it, at least.

That Dragonrider seemed to carry a blessing of the gods herself--being in the Temple seemed only to magnify it. Being near such a presence was exhilarating to Adanil. As a simple villager, he had never felt such a close connection to the gods before. He had heard of such things, but to see it--to feel it--in person was incredible.

When the kindly cleric healed Merrin's foot, Adanil felt his jaw drop open again. Was that magic? After seeing Dragons breathing fire, he wouldn't have thought that a little flare of white light could surprise him, but it was the effects that astonished him; on the farm, that would have taken months to understand.

Truly, this place was amazing.

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(thats okay i can't get on so much either now, i have the british equivalant of Finals)

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Made by Lembas

[waiting for Curunir]

The cleric took her hand in his own and patted it warmly. "And you too, Mistress Dragonrider." In turn he smiled at Adanil and Kendath, though the one directed at the latter seemed more troubled than mirthful. His stride as he and the priestess departed the infirmary was long and measured - the walk of one who was obviously at peace with the world, though still had much business to attend to.

As did they, Kendath recalled. Though both Merrin and Adanil seemed reluctant to go, he set a rapid leading pace out of the temple and through the wondrous gardens outside. They emerged once more in the grassy square that defined the wealthy district. He marked a towering structure a few blocks down from the temple that could only be the fabled library of Baste. "Both of you go ahead," he suggested, gesturing at the library. "I have something else in mind."

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"In a minute," said Merrin abruptly, and turned her blue-eyed gaze full on him. She could be irritatingly perceptive when she wanted to. "Why do you do that?" she asked. It was more a confused query than a demand. "Would it really be so bad, for once, to appreciate the fact that they're helping us? Me? Would it be so bad to - to - " here she stopped, apparently at a loss for words.

"It's just...you don't know everything," she continued, meeting his eyes whether he liked it or not. "Sometimes you need to ask for help. It's not a bad thing." She seemed to be referring to his odd, rigid tone with the priestess and cleric, his unwillingness to trust that the gods could and would help them. What was that? Merrin couldn't see it for what it was - she knew nothing of his past, and her own childhood had been different from his by far.

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The blunt question had caught Kendath off guard, and before he knew it he was impaled under Merrin's blue-eyed gaze. The effect was as surely as if she'd pierced him through with a knife. No, not a knife. A lance. He remained silent for a long while, meeting her gaze but seeming to stare right through it. At length he opined coldly, unfeelingly, "You don't understand."

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"Try me, then," said Merrin, unmoving, still looking unflinchingly up at him. "You're right, I don't - but I can't understand if you don't give me a chance to."

She determinedly ignored Adanil's presence. In truth Kendath's words almost incensed her. Of course she didn't understand! Who was it who hardly spoke, who seemed to, no matter what she did, perpetually push her away and hold her at arm's length?

The fact that his gaze likewise never moved from hers made Merrin look away. Heistantly she moved a hand to trace the Meiltha insignia on his armor. "This doesn't make you what you were. You're not one of them any more."

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How much Kendath wanted her words to ring true! But for him at least, the past never seemed to die no matter how quickly he ran. He'd thought repenting his ways and seeing the light would save him, but the light at the end of the tunnel had been superficial, initially blinding him but then dumping him once more into the tempest of his own turmoil.

And besides, that light had never been instigated by the gods. It'd been instigated by Merrin.

He looked at her a moment longer, then shifted his gaze to the relatively empty streets - punctuated by the occassional noble group strolling by. The sun was already nearly through with its sojourn. "Now is not the time," he replied coolly. "I'll meet you at the library in a few hours." Without further word he turned and began making his way back to the marketplace.

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Would he? Would he really? Or was it another attempt to brush her off, tell her she couldn't understand...Merrin watched the black cloak until it disappeared, and felt her heart sink.

"Come on," she muttered to Adanil and turned to make her way down the street. Perhaps the library would provide some measure of distraction. Merrin almost laughed aloud at this on further thought - as if upon perusing even the oldest scrolls she'd forget how she couldn't even hold his gaze for a moment without an aching urge to make him tell her why she couldn't penetrate the walls behind his eyes.

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The inn's rather flattering name was The Traveller's Companion, under which it boasted the emblem of a stick figure reclining on a small rectangle that could either have been a bed or a torturing rack. The latter provoked serene memories of the Meiltha torture chambers, to which Kendath found himself wearing a wry grin upon entering the crowded common room.

As expected, he'd come to the right place. It was only five minutes ago that he'd watched another contingent of cavalry filtering in. They now occupied half the space, bantering and boasting over their drinks. Conveniently for Kendath, they'd also amassed a sizable audience of admirers listening in on their melodramatic tales of heroics.

Giantslaying quest his ass.

Letting his mouth drop stupidly open for the sole purpose of fitting in, he moved up to join the other listeners. This particular man had crept up on a giant's den with his band of five knights. They'd snuck up on the sleeping giant - but no! The monster had awaken! It'd climbed to its feet - feet as big as Baste, as big as a mountain - and begun swinging its sword! And then, and then...

All this excitement was making Kendath sleepy.

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