Fantasy Obscuria

When the body was discovered, Myah's first thought was - as it always was - of Cyril. Of course she felt some degree of grief and pity for the deceased leper, but what could she do for him now that he was gone? The beauty of his corpse, framed by bracelets and a mask of silver, only served to make the sight of his suicide more affecting. However, it was not herself whom Myah feared for; more and more often as the days went on, she'd caught Cyril lying awake all through the night, or starting from dreams she could not shield him from.

How many more sleepless nights would a tragedy like this induce?

Her concern was not selfless. Though she might be half-mad already, even she knew that protecting Cyril served a purpose for her own sanity's sake. Worrying about him was much easier than paying heed to the sense of breaking nausea in her abdomen.

As she stood with the other refugees who'd taken shelter in the parish, Myah kept one hand on the hilt of her sword, the other resting protectively on Cyril's back. The shadows under his eyes were already so dark... or maybe that was just the effect of the unfavorable lighting cast by the stained glass above the altar, stark and dim all at once. The exhaustion on his face reminded her of Atoire in his last few days, handing out food that could barely be considered safe, cheeks hollowed. It was not a likeness she considered to bode well.

"What does it say?" She asked of the letter Atoire had left, for, if she had ever been able to read, she could do so no longer. Against her best intentions, her eyes returned to the corpse. There was something uncanny about the body, so gruesomely penetrated and yet barren of blood or viscera.She didn't know what to say, when all she could think was 'he looks so peaceful'. All she could do was hope that the tightness in her chest was not the stirrings of envy.


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OOC: If there's anything I need to edit Coin, I should be able to this evening (GMT) if the half-way hotel has wifi, so I can fix it before Sunday's official start. Hope it's a sufficient length, blah blah blah, and assuming all is well, see you kids when I've fled to America!

Ascot Barley


Ascot was grateful, in a way, that the group so often traveled together. It helped in many ways - the most pressing being that nobody had to discover heinous scenes alone. He felt that helped with morale, he felt, at least in his most rational moments.

Now, he felt a pronounced sense of sadness, even of loss. This man was a good man. Had been a good man, even if he was a religious man, in his life. He had offered shelter, protection, a place their group to feel safe and secure for the first time in at least a month. Acscot let his hand reach his brow, massaging it, as he gazed down upon the body.
The priest had deserved so much more than this.

He took in a long, shaky breath, exhaling quickly as his mind started to race. "Myah, Cyril..." A pause. "Erasmus. Don't touch him."

Ascot kneeled next to the corpse. He took the paper into his hand, unfolding it deliberately, his eyes roaming the page slowly. "He believes he has gone to be with God, Myah. Let it be so."
He swapped the paper into his left hand, offering it to Adam, his right hand moving to wrap around Atoire's last prayer.
"Adam.. we can carry him. Out to the graveyard."

His head bowed, for a moment, and he held his pose. The priest's hands were clammy under his own, semi-slack, dirty. A year ago, he never would have conidered touching a leper, but... well. Times change.

With eyes gently closed, Adam sat upon one of the church benches with his body hunched forward. His rough hands pressed themselves, with strength and anger, against his forehead. He had been in the position for several minutes, rarely showing any emotions aside from the occasional tensed jaw muscles. There was conflict within him, a struggle within his mind as he raced to decide whether or not to feel happiness or sadness at the loss of Atoire. The damn leper was a Moonfallen, the man’s sin against the natural order exposed as its tendrils bloomed from within his body.

Reclining back against the church bench, Adam rested naturally with his hands placed quietly on his thighs. Tracing the form of Atoire’s body to his tendrils, sadness along with the mixture of awe took hold of him. Even if the blasted thing was a Moonfallen, Atoire gave birth to a beautiful sight. He couldn’t help, to the protest of his hatred, but compare the sight to a painting that was a gift by his long-gone father. Atoire took a form that was akin to fantasy, a thing that was beyond natural life. Begrudgingly, Adam admitted to himself that mankind had lost a man of virtue and of value.

Even though Adam’s malice was palpable when he met Atoire, the man continued to gift him shelter and food. Even when he vehemently cursed against the Moonfallen, he wasn’t expelled or casted into the wilderness. From that, Adam couldn’t help but feel respect for the leper. Atoire was more human than most Moonfallen and it was from him that allowed Adam to see a small human side of the cursed abominations.

With a small subtle smile, Adam whispered a single small farewell.

Hearing his name being called, Adam turned his attention from the form of Atoire towards Ascot and focused on the piece of paper offered by the man. Frowning, Adam got up from his bench and took small and quiet steps towards Ascot and grasped the letter. Giving a glance at the contents written in the letter, Adam could make out some of the characters but the meaning of the words was lost to him. He wasn’t literate… his family couldn’t afford the lessons—to give him and his siblings a proper education.

Focusing on the corpse of the leper, Adam gave a firm nod at the request. The last thing that he could offer towards the church leper was a proper rest within the welcoming embrace of the world. While Moonfallen, the leper allowed him to express a small fragment of his past self and that was worth more than silver or his bias.

“We will… we will give this,” Adam paused as he furrowed his eyebrows as he contemplated on his choice of words, “Ascot, yes… let us bring Atoire to the graveyard. The last thing we can do for this man is to give him a proper rest.”

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Atoire had truly been blessed, his unwavering faith was the reason for such a gift. God had not only cured his leprosy but replaced it with a most beautiful form, one truly fitting for one such as Atoire. Erasmus couldn't help but admire his new form, not with jealousy but with pure admiration. Tears began to well up in the old man's eyes as he examined the divine silver mask. Is this what was waiting for him upon his death? Would he blossom into a creature of such radiance?

He wiped his eyes and looked to those around him. Each were a special soul, they must be, why else would God have saved them and given them a chance to join him in paradise? Despite being much older than his companions there was still much that he could learn from each of them. Each walked a different path before The Sorrows, yet each of them had displayed enough virtues to survive. In that sense they were one and the same.

His companions began to deliver the body of Atoire to his final resting place. "Myah my dear will you help this old fool outside? My back isn't what it used to be and I want to see this good man off to the next life." How long after The Sorrows did people stop burying their dead? He had lost count of the number of bodies he had discovered during his pilgrimage, unable to bury them he had to make do with offering each one a prayer that would see that they rest peacefully.

He patiently waited for the grave to be dug, fetching water for those doing the digging. It wasn't much in the way of helping but it was all that he could do with his old body. With the grave dug he helped with the lowering of the body. "Atoire was a good man, afflicted with a vile disease. Despite this his faith never wavered. His generosity and self-sacrifice are something that we can all learn from. A true paragon of the faith, and he was rewarded by having having his sickly form replaced with the one that you see before us. There is no doubt that a man such as Atoire is now beside God in paradise, a truly fitting place for him." He bowed his head in a moment of silent respect to the man who had provided each of them shelter. "Are there any of you that wish to say some words?"

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Cyril

He was so horrendously exhausted. Another night of staying awake. Another night of staring at Myah as she was given the sweet comfort of sleep. It wasn't fair..so horrendous unfair. Her hand against his back was oddly comforting in a way. His eyes, as well as the dark rings around them, were all that could be seen. His helmet, as anachronistic as it was, was quite good at hiding his facial features. His tired eyes peered down at the deceased leper. "Such a shame.." His boyish voice was slightly muffled from his attire. Despite his age, he sounded closer to a teen than someone in their mid-teens. His accent was certainly one that could be considered 'posh'. At one point at least. Ever since he was given the curse, his accent had slowly began to crumble. Less posh and more..'unrefined'. It seemed he was having to consciously speak with that accent. "I suppose he will be happy to be free of this blight."

The large men of the group had already began to make their moves to bury the old man. "I..suppose I will check the church for food? I know he had little but..perhaps he was simply rationing it out as long as he could." It made sense, honestly. It was also unlikely. If Cyril had to guess, the old man had killed himself the day he realized there was no food left. It was best to die for your God than starve any longer. "I'll check later. We'll check later." The old priest had already moved to assist the men who went to take the leper to his grave. Cyril didn't feel like it would be right for him to wander off.

So he stayed. Or rather, he wandered off in search of tools to help them dig. A rusty shovel was all he found, laying in a small pile of dirt which contained what looked to be some attempt at a mass grave. The wood old and rotten. Too much pressure would be sure to snap it right off the rusted and dull blade of the shovel. It would seem that..this is all they had. He turned his head back to the others, stumbling back to them with tired and unsure footsteps. He really wanted to sleep.

The old man spoke up, asking the others to say a few words for Atoire. "I.." Cyril began to speak, his voice faintly trailing off. What did he have to say? He appreciated everything the leper had done for him. He was appreciative that he never seemed to judge them. For all the classes his family paid for, for all the eulogy's of dying relative's he heard..it wasn't enough to prepare him to say something about the dead. "Atoire was a wonderful man. His heart was unaffected by the judgement that so many would have give us. He was, in the true sense of the word, a..savior." Cyril stuck the old shovel in the dirt, allowing whoever wished to dig first to grab it.

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Erasmus did not need to ask twice; once Myah had watched Cyril depart, her eyes following him to the door, she was quick to smile and come to the older man's aid. She likely wouldn't refuse such a request from anyone, but for the holy man, she was especially willing to go out of her way. She liked his eyes and how kind they felt. Taking a careful hold of the man, she followed behind the others and the corpse. "You are no fool, Father," she murmured, voice soft, before a small smirk crept in. "Though I won't deny you're old."

Myah dug with the others, aided in the lowering, and as always, returned to Cyril's side when she was done. "Steady," she said under her breath, using a hand to catch him as he stumbled. She'd been right: he hadn't slept. It was all she could do to provide herself for him to lean against as she stood silent, listening to his words which, to her at least, seemed eloquent. She didn't realise it until she felt moisture dripping from her chin, but the priest's words alone had brought her eyes to watering– or maybe the tears were brought on by the acute sense of worry twisting in her gut.

It wasn't just Cyril who she had to think of now. Looking about at the group, even Ascot seemed numbed out, having taken a hold of a leper without so much as wincing at the consequences. Something felt off, even more so than usual.

"He was kind," Myah said, not one for words but nonetheless, she'd felt strongly about the deceased and that seemed enough to animate her tongue. "That's none too easy, nowadays."

When everyone had said their dues, she took up Cyril's discarded spade and threw the first spat of dirt over the body. The shovel groaned and wobbled, but held until the corpse was covered. Recalling Cyril's previous suggestion, she returned to him with the clipped question of, "Food?" Before crouching, giving him the silent offer of a piggyback without thinking much of it. It would be easier to carry him than watch him stumble about, each misstep a reminder of what was happening to all of them.



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OOC: something tells me shit's only gonna get worse for the gang from here on out

Adam

With eyes casted downwards upon the corpse of Atoire, Adam watched in fascination as the burial proceeded. With each particle of dirt falling downwards, the leper’s body was slowly covered by the earth itself. The entire situation intrigued the normally apathetic man, having been used to seeing decaying corpses. He had to, considering he was responsible for the deaths of several people at the height of his madness. The only burials he would grant to people were the occasional bonfires that he himself would ignite.

As the last finishing touches of the pitiful grave took place, Adam focused on the rising promise of peace and tranquility. The last heavenly body left with the will to grant light and truth to the survivors of the world. To Adam, the sun had taken a hold of his soul as it became a symbol of holiness and perhaps even a god to him. Even if the heavenly being no longer possessed the vitality that he once remembered, it was still there in the overwhelming abyss.

Does the sun still rise in the hopes of finding the moon? Just as humanity waits for the light in the dark?

Ridiculous thoughts. Turning his attention back towards the grave of Atoire, Adam whispered a small good bye. It seemed that whenever he finds a good soul, they would depart much sooner than desired. Perhaps it was a message to him. Perhaps the death of Atoire was a punishment for the transgressions he himself performed. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Adam discretely began focusing on the environment around him. The last thing he wanted was to really consider what he had done before he met Ascot, before he met Atoire, and before he met the others around him.

It was a stroke of luck that Adam managed to hear the faintest of noises that perturbed the general atmosphere. The snapping of dry wood instantly alerted Adam, raising his attentiveness of his surroundings. If he hadn’t snapped out of his small internal monologue, it was likely he would had missed the sounds. With the sudden departure of ravens, as they retreated to the skies above, suspicion took hold of Adam. Whatever it was, it was enough to disturb ravens.

Grasping the handle of his trusty blade, Adam turned his attention towards where he believed the noise originated from. Slightly off from the true direction, Adam took a few steps forward towards the source. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good news. Perhaps it could had been a small rodent, but that wouldn’t disturb ravens. Even if Adam had little formal education, he knew one thing: ravens were intelligent. His days as a guardsman allowed him to observe some birds that hung around the marketplaces and buildings and he rarely found crows or ravens lacking.

Whatever created the noises frightened the ravens enough to flee. Whatever it was beyond the fences was dangerous. Whatever it was needed to be killed. Murdered. Dismembered. Butchered. He needed to kill whatever it was outside. With each passing thought, Adam’s grip upon the handle of his blade tightened. Yet, before he could take a single step forward, he felt a strange calmness wash through his violent mind. While it wasn’t enough to convince Adam to change his course of actions, it was enough for him to warn the others before he began.

“There’s… something coming from this direction,” Adam began suddenly with a moderate and controlled voice, pointing with his left hand at where he thought the source of the noises originated from. “Snapping of twigs. I will be checking it. I will find out what it is. If it turns out be to a threat, I will kill it.”

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Ascot Barley


"He was a kind man," Ascot reaffirmed, a fact, not cold but detached from the darkness of the situation. "He was a leper, an outcast before the Sorrows, but was not bitter. Not in life." The barkeep helped bury the leper, taking a sort of solace in it, letting himself stand almost completely still with his thoughts. The others' words were... well, beautiful, weren't they?

He watched Adam move, taking a few steps behind the other man, reminding himself that there wasn't much he was sure how to do in the fight. His hands shook, gently, barely noticeable to the naked eye. He watched as the woman came out of the foliage. He watched as she spoke. His eyes scanned her, kindly, with a preset of sadness twinkling in his eyes.
"Please. Sit down."

Ascot took a few steps towards the woman, showing her clearly he was not armed, his head dropping for a moment. It came back up, and near-tears shone in his eyes, though none fell. He took a deep breath. "The caretaker of this place is not with the world any longer. We had no way to know he was going to..." His voice lapsed, but only for a second. "Nothing to do, now."

The bartender turned his head towards the others, swallowing, pulling himself together. "Do any of you know how to tend wounds?"

Cyril

Myah was so kind, graciously offering the tired Cyril a ride so the boy wouldn't risk hurting himself with his stumbling footsteps. The others spoke their piece about Atoire as he was buried, but Cryil seemed to be more focused on resting his eyes. It was long until the sudden sounds of fleeing raven's startled him and ruining his attempts at rest. Adam was moving towards the source of the fleeing ravens and rustling brush.

The girl that came into view a few moments later was certainly Moonfallen. Her eye's practically gave it away. "I'm..sorry to say this but..you arrived here too late. As Ascot said, the caretaker recently passed." Good thing he could still form complete sentences, or this would have been awful. Cyril's tired eyes watched the young girl, observing her various wounds. The wound on her leg peaked her interest. "Did they unleash dogs on you?" She really did seem like quite a mess. He had no medical experience to speak of, and he doubted Myah did. Oh- yes, he almost forgot about her offer.

Carefully Cyril hoisted himself up on Myah's back, his tired frame pressing against her as his arms wrapped around her body. He couldn't say if she felt warm or cold; his armor preventing so. "Let me go if there's danger..I could probably hold my own." He whispered in her ear before letting out yet another yawn. "I'm sorry to say this to you stranger but..I doubt we could do much for you. Those wounds look grievous, at least from where I stand. Is there other rumored sanctuaries? We could..perhaps lead you to them? If you don't succumb to your wounds."

He really wished he could do more for the girl.

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Erasmus was never a fighter in his younger years, never once throwing a punch at another person. But now that time had become to take its toll on his body, any use that he may have had in a fight was gone. His bones were weak, his muscles had began to waste away, and his reactions were slow. So he hid behind the others when the movement in the bushes began to move closer, hoping not to get in their way if worse came to worst.

A young woman stumbled from the bushes moments later. She was clearly shaken and injured, and seemed to pose no threat to the group. Even if this was a ruse she was outnumbered by his companions. He approached her, supporting himself on his walking stick. He lowered himself to the ground to be able to meet her eye "Would to allow me to look at your wounds? I may be able to help treat them." It was important to make her feel at ease before treating her wounds, he'd seen it before those who are panicked and jumpy make it difficult to tend to their wounds. He carefully pulled up what remained of her trouser leg to inspect the wounds more closely. It was a bad wound but not one that seemed to be particularly fatal. He lifted himself to his feet and entered the church to collect items to treat the woman.

The search took several minutes but he eventually returned with fresh water and the cleanest cloth that he could find. He returned to the ground next to the woman "This may be painful and I apologize for that, but it should help stop the blood flow and aid in recovery." He gently washed the wounds with the water before applying bundled cloth to each of the puncture wounds and binding it all tightly. "It will be difficult to walk for sometime and it'll be important to keep your weight off of it when possible. You should also know that if the rot begins to set in you might have to remove the foot." He allowed her a moment for that to sink in. He had seen many amputations take place in the past, they were quick and brutal, and those requiring it were lucky to survive much long after it. "I'll do all I can to prevent that from happening but my knowledge is limited. You could do with some new shoes to keep the dirt from the wounds." He gently removed what remained of her single shoe and exchanged it for his set of leather shoes. "You may also take my stick to keep weight off of the leg, don't worry I can still move without it." He helped her to her feet and place the stick into her hands and started to lead her towards the church. "Come, you must be tired and hungry. You needn't fear now, this is a safe place.

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Ascot Barley


Thank God for Erasmus.
Ascot snorted at his own thoughts, his head jerking briefly, looking back up at the woman. It wasn't often he thanked Erasmus for anything, was it? Oh well..

As the preist worked, he sidled over towards Cyril and Myah, letting his hand rise to touch the young noble's back. His voice low, he watched the woman, preoccupied as she was. "Are you alright?" His eyes scanned the pair, Myah carrying Cyril, Cyril exhausted-looking and weak. It was worrying, he thought, to see a young man in such shape.
There wasn't much more to do but wait. Wait for a response, wait for Erasmus to finish, wait.

The priest finished faster than Ascot had expected. The woman asked for names, and Ascot smiled. "My name is Ascot. And these are.. well, they'll tell you, I suppose."

Adam

Adam’s lips barely moved as he watched the Moonfallen carefully. When his companions offered the beast compassion, Adam remained passive. There was a small feeling of rage, but it was countered by the pitiful state of the young woman. Even if she were to turn on them, he was confident they could cut her down with ease. There was an urge within him, wanting to offer his service in tending to her wounds. Yet he didn’t lift his hand, his prejudice stronger than his nature and there was feeling of thankfulness when Erasmus offered to tend to the wounds.

Taking in a deep breath, Adam focused his attention towards the direction the woman stumbled from. There wasn’t a single sound that he could hear, but he cautioned himself nevertheless. He wasn’t sure if the others caught on, but the woman was pursued by hunters… people that shared several beliefs with himself. Regardless of what he thought of them, it was a clear case they were on a rampage and they had hounds with them. How long was it before the hunters found them? Would they had stopped chasing her for fresher pastures? Or really, they are stalking the prey in hopes to find a larger group of people? In a fight, Adam felt their success, as a group, as modest in terms of surviving against a group of attackers.

They’ll find out in the coming hours if the hunters are on their way or not. They will probably be cocky and confident and that should give hints of their presence. When they arrive, if they do, he will be prepared for them.

Turning his attention towards the young Moofallen, Adam gave a brief introduction of his name with a cold and neutral tone, “Adam.”

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It was a rare occasion when Myah was the one to withhold trust. She was glad to have Cyril so close to her at the approach of the unknown, the warmth of his hands against her a small but appreciated comfort as the rest of her body grew chilled with unsubstantiated unease. Even when Erasmus, a man she considered a kind of spiritual guide, offered his aid to the woman, Myah still did not speak up and offer words of comfort. No matter how she tried to coax herself into experiencing the proper reactions, still she felt the hairs on the back of her neck raising. Instinct warned her to lead Cyril to safety, or to put herself between the rest of those she called companions and this stranger, but logic grappled and prevailed; she had no reason to fear a woman clearly injured, unusual in no way save for her eyes.

And yet, what moon-fallen curse had ever been limited to a discoloration of the irises?

Myah and Adam had found themselves at odds often, she being of the breed he hated, yet here they were unified in their apparent caution around the new comer. With a curt nod to the woman, Myah guided her hand to her sword and stayed it there, thumbing the fraying leather that bound the handle. "It is good to see a fresh face," she said, only half disingenuous, for their previous stay at the church had felt like a kind of limbo, a calm before the storm. If this woman was indeed the sign of that metaphorical weather breaking, then so be it. Although... Myah could not help wishing Cyril were better rested for it. And Erasmus, that he had not given up his walking aid... but what could she say to protest his kindness? He was in the right, and she merely devolving into paranoia.

She did not want to worry them with signs that she too was cracking.

"Myah. If you do not mind me asking, your eyes— are you moonfallen?" No matter her inner knowing that she ought to be polite, the gnawing of fear drove her to being blunt regardless. Perhaps she could disguise it as being so that they might know how best to tend to her. Either way, she was not going to dally if it would risk the others, least of all Cyril, who was not even remotely fit to tarry with a monster at the moment.



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OOC: Apologies for the delay, I did not want to inflict my jetlagged-soaked writing on you all.

Cyril

Cyri's attention went to Ascot as he approached him and Myah; voicing his concern to the boy. "Ah..I'm alright. Mostly. I haven't been able to sleep for the past few days.." His voice trailed off into a yawn, making his exhaustion all too clear; though it wasn't as if he'd been hiding it. "I'm Cyril." His attention went from Ascot to the newcomer who had introduced themselves. Erasmus had been quick to over them aid as well; though he could tell by the body language of Myah that she wasn't quite a fan of this kindness.

That wasn't to say her distrust of Cezelia wasn't to be expected. Cyril would have been surprised if she hadn't acted the way she had. Adam was..Adam. It seemed the group was rather split on how they felt about the girl. Cyril certainly had mixed feelings about the matter, what if she accidentally lead these hunters this way? He doubted the girl was some sort of 'scout' for them, simply by looking at her wounds.

"Miss Cezelia..are you sure they didn't follow you somehow? What if they followed your trail with those dogs and you accidentally lead them right towards us?" One of his hands moved to gently rest on Myah's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze; an attempt to comfort the woman. Cyril didn't want to think about a potential attack, let alone having to eventually leave the safety of this sanctuary. He was far too tired for it. His head gently rested against Myah's shoulder, his breathing slowing as he closed his eyes.

He had to try and get some rest.

He really hoped it would come.
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Ascot Barley


"Of course we're wary of strangers. You understand, of course, but..." Ascot hesitated. "If the others don't mind, I am willing to extend trust, always."
Ascot let his eyes wander across the group, finally settling on Adam. He knew the boy - man - has not been fond of Myah, when they had met, but it was all over now. It was fine, wasn't it?

He contemplated the hunters, a bit wary of her saying they wouldn't be a problem, but put his fears aside. Of course she was legitimate - she was injured.
Still, he couldn't quite clear his head. His body language closed, and remained a bit guarded, though he kept his head held high. "How far did you have to come to reach us?"

Adam

Barely a hint of movement graced Adam’s posture, aside from the rhythmic and controlled breathing, as he observed Cezelia’s form. There wasn’t a trace of interest and more of an analytical observation of a patient. The effects of silver on the Moonfallen were familiar to Adam and it aided in proving her background as a Moonfallen, not that that needed any validation.

It would be so easy to dispose of her, with her frail pale body. There were so many things that irked Adam and it would just be so easy to silence her. It’ll be better for the group to eliminate an unknown variable. The Moonfallen couldn’t be trusted and Cezelia wasn’t making it easier for them. Just pull out the blade and a nice thrust should do. It’ll even be a merciful kill, Adam reasoned to himself, the girl wouldn’t survive too long without their aid.

For the first time since the encounter with Cezelia, Adam’s grip slowly relaxed on the handle of his blade. Perhaps this was another test by the Gods? To test him of his path to recovery? Cezelia’s story certainly had no flaws that he could detect. Shouldn’t be too hasty. Moonfallen can be human. She could be human. Do not kill.

The group seemed to share his sentiment of being wary of Cezelia, however, and doesn’t that speak volume? It appears even that beast pretending to be a knight agrees. Ascot, a good man that Adam respected, seemed to have some suspicion. Naturally, the woman claims that there’s fresh water and somehow the hunter’s pets won’t bother them. To win their favor? Does the monster think they would fall for such tricks?

“What happened to the dogs?” Adam interjected into the conversation without notice, his voice still cold and laced heavily with suspicion, “I doubt they lost track of your scent. Don’t even entertain us with the idea of ‘fresh’ water Cezelia. I have little trust in you, but we’ll consider your usefulness.”

The words Adam spoke were far more than he had originally intended. It was probably the most words he stringed together since the Sorrows, yet he felt the need to. Even if the words he spoke weren’t the best in terms of flow, they were enough to communicate his point. Yet, even if he verbally disregarded the idea of fresh water, he mentally entertained the idea. Gods above, the water they had probably weren’t the best for his health.

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As Myah felt the shift in attitude among the rest alter course, she too lost hesitation in indulging in suspicion. Though Ascot seemed predisposed to offer trust, even he retained a wary undertone when he spoke. Cyril's hand, squeezing her shoulder tight, was enough to give her resolve in her protectiveness; he wasn't in a fit state to undergo betrayal if they left themselves vulnerable to it. His voice was soft in her ear, mirroring her attempt at good-willed civility, but he too clearly harbored reticence.

Whilst Myah struggled between the options of welcome and rejection, she realized something else; regardless of their choice, if the dogs were real, they'd find this place soon enough on the search for the scent. All their scents would be plain about this area for it to find, and who knew it it was only Cezelia they were tracking; what if it were all Moonfallen? Could a dog tell the scent of one? And what if it decided to change course and pursue them instead?

She didn't have the words to express all this aloud, fear seizing up her muscles as she gripped onto Cyril's thighs too tight, regretting it in an instance for she knew he's sense it. She didn't want to spook him; she just wanted him to sleep for once. "We need to get out of here," she said in a low voice, staring at the newcomer's feet. She felt a twitching in her jaw, an aching in her skull. God. Not now, please, not whilst Cyril was trying to rest upon her. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head, breathing in and out slowly as she counted down from ten, then began the process again. When the pain had subsided, she glanced up at the others, trying to show them she was fine, that she was safe to be around. "The church. They'll search it." It was too valuable a resource for them to do otherwise, every location now a potential resource for the few remaining scraps of food and tools in the world.

Panic mounted again in her chest. How would they flee the dogs? If they could track scent... They'd have to cross water to throw them off, or find a way to mask it. Regaining her hold upon Cyril, she took two steps back from the group. "The water— Is it a river? A lake, a well? What?" Myah asked Cezelia, voice short, not exactly rude but clearly pressed by a sense of urgency.

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Stiffening at being addressed directly and exclusively, Myah glanced about the group for an indication of their thoughts on the matter. Everything felt jumbled, happening too quickly, and yet they were all being too slow given what might be coming. “I think…” She began, voice dying in her throat. She bowed her head, squeezing against Cyril as he curled against her back to try and steel her nerves, before looking up and speaking as clearly as fear allowed her, “I think there’s nothing for us here. We’ve been here two weeks and know this church well enough to say it’s barren. I don’t know if I believe you, but I don’t think we have any alternatives.”

There were more of them than there were of her. If it came to conflict, at least they had the advantage in numbers. If where they were led turned out to be a trap where others lay in wait… What would they gain, save bloodshed?

It was tentative logic at best, Myah knew that all too well; she’d participated firsthand in the way the vanishing of the moon could drive people to crave carnage as strong as the depleting water and food. All she knew for certain though was that the longer they delayed, the less easily she could breathe. Instinct told her to run. This was as best as she could do.

Cyril meanwhile, had his sleep interrupted by the abrupt feeling of something squeezing his legs. Just barely conscious enough to remember that Myah was still carrying him, he began to rouse from his attempts at sleep unwillingly. He heard the conversation, but had processed little of it. Something about water? Something about them having to trust the stranger too. He rose his head up slightly, looking down at Myah; unable to see her face.

“Wherever you go is where I go Myah..” He let out a weak yawn, deciding to rest his chin back on her shoulder. “I don’t think there’s much food for us here so we should..just leave. Yeah. If this girl had been told that there was shelter or something here, then it’s likely others have too.” For someone so sleepy, he seemed able to come up with rational conclusions. “So we either risk going with her and have the chance at getting clean water...or we just wait here and just hope no one finds us? There’s no..right solution I guess.”

“Thank you, Cyril,” Myah murmured, smiling unconsciously at the reassurance before remembering the danger they were in. Smile vanishing, she looked about to the others, then to Cezilia. “Please, take us there.” Over her shoulder, she added more quietly. “And you— rest. I’ll wake you when we’re there.”

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The old man shuffled over to a pew and gently lowered himself onto it, letting out a soft groan as he relaxed for a moment. He watched the group talk back and forth, whilst reminiscing the days of his youth when he was filled with such vigor. In his younger days he would have been more than eager to find somewhere that was safe for others, but age wasn't kind. He would be a burden to the group slowing their progress and being unable to defend himself. It would be unfair to place this burned upon them.

He let out a short cough to get the attention of the others "If there is a safe haven I believe that you should seek it out. There is no denying that what little supplies were here when we were graciously welcomed had almost run dry, there is little here for you now. I must emphasise the you in my statement. Whilst I would be most grateful if you would allow me to accompany you, I am aware of my abilities. There would be little I could provide to the group, so if you choose to leave me behind do not feel any guilt in the choice. I may be able to keep this church as an area of rest just as Artoire once did."

With his part spoken he sank back into the pew, shutting his eyes to get some rest and leaving the decision to the youth.

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