#and one more for you as promised :bunglad:

[wolfhednn]

WHO KNOWS. MAYBE FAITH WHERE SHE CAME FROM⠀🗲⠀wasn't so bad, for her to say something like that. it didn't sound like she had much of an issue with the idea of fighting either, which was a surprise. usually most clerics were quick to balk at the idea of warfare or continued bloodshed, counseling him to consider turning to more peaceful ways. as if the history of this land hadn't been forged through bloodshed, and all others everywhere else so long as people had things to fight about.

". . . hmph." to her note about fathers and fitting into them, he says nothing, only a quietly stout huff giving any acknowledgement to the remark. whether he disapproved or otherwise is left to hang in the turn of his head forward again, obscuring his face and whatever thoughts ran behind it.

it's an idea that faerghus——no, probably all of fódlan——wasn't ready to hear. even he can't deny a hollowness that pits in his gut in response to it, as though looking at the distant lines of a homestead left far in the distance and moving farther with each second, knowing he would never see it again.

regardless: "felix." he finishes her inquiry with a note of finality.

and once more the soft sounds of a cathedral in mourning come to life in his ears: shuffling and subdued conversation, the billowing of cloth, loud scraping creaks of the wagons towing stone beyond the caved-in wall ; a few steps in front, a young acolyte crosses within sight to search for something amidst the crates, nodding wordlessly to them in apology for the disturbance. with the reminder of the rest of life beyond the small chapel, it's more than time for him to take his leave. haughtily, as if mocking: "don't make a habit of collapsing."

the faint clink of a sword belt is all that succeeds his footsteps returning to the shadows of the nave.

doves, off-white.

restoration⠀∶⠀confessions.