Firefly Glen ceremonial

there were others nearby. the scent of the preacher and hunter a stark contrast to the scents just north of the glen. a collection. a pack.

he remained vigilant, he prayed for the speed of a hawk should any descend upon him.

but most importantly, he sought for those who might be stragglers. those who he might scoop up into his care and herd back to his small, tiny flock.

at the very least, somebody to listen to him would be nice.

Augustine had seen a small picture of the cruelty of these wilds, painted in the blood along a creature’s broken frame. He had not been ready to face life beyond the monastery. He did not think he was ready now.

But here he was, enraptured by the lights that danced around him. Lights within the darkness. How fitting a reflection! So with eyes soft and wide, he watched, wondered, and waited, only partially aware that he was not entirely alone.

through the dazzling lights, the shepherd found his sheep.

a man who looked akin to himself with such earthy tones. although there was no mistaking this was a wolf. he wondered if this man was like his hunter, mute or unaware of God. both tragedies in the eyes of bartholomew.

a blessing to see such a sight, no? he rumbled soft and warm, a smile on his features as he kept eyes fixed to the stranger.

The other's voice did not startle him. Rather, it caused him to pause. Augustine closed his eyes for a moment, for he found in those words a soft familiarity that brought up visions of home.

"A blessing, indeed," he said, and turned to face the man more fully.

He had not expected to see a dog, but this is who he was met with; hanging ears and a narrow face. And yet, Augustine did not mind. Instead, he sought to match the tame man's smile. He had met many dogs on his travels and he had discovered that those who would associate themselves with wolves were at times even better company than fellows who shared his wild blood.

"I-it's something... how they shine light in the darkness..." his voice was small, and his thought, incomplete, as if uncertain if he even wished to muse his thoughts aloud.

how peculiar.

yet he felt comfortably at ease with how the other responded. as if he had finally found somebody kin to him. not once had he anticipated it in these wild lands full of false prophets and barbarians.

a sign, perhaps. are you in the darkness? he hoped his words were not taken too literal. merely an invitation to discuss topics that were dear to bartholomew.

if the boy understood his shrouded words, of course.

Was he in the darkness?

Just as he had not expected a dog, he had not expected the question, either. If he closed his eyes again - which he didn't this time - Augustine was certain he would be able to convince himself he was back in those long and winding tunnels, where sunlight broke through cracks in the mountainside, where he had often walked to pray through an identical question.

Had he found a like believer in this man?

Augustine was slow to believe it. He had heard that the wolves of these parts served many gods, and that he must be on guard, lest he find himself thrown by some false word and lose himself along the way. The thought made his stomach tingle - yet he could not pretend there wasn't some feeling of commonality with the man who had found him.

"No. I am not," he answered, still soft, but this time, certain, "even through the valley of death, the Good Shepherd leads me," and he knew this man would know the One he spoke of, if he, too, was one like him.

bartholomew was not a soft man by any stretch.

yet here he was, feeling melted and warmed. as if this wolf had closed its teeth around his throat and pulled the words right out of him.

bartholomew had not been led astray, after all. there was hope in these lands in the face of a fresh boy.

He leads us both.

soft and in awe.

you are the only other i met who even seems to know the good word.

And so the connection came, this unbreakable link they shared. Children of the Light, brothers of the Way.

For the first time since leaving the mountains behind him, Augustine felt a sense of belonging wash over him. Peace and assurance that came only from the Father, in knowing that he was not alone amongst his kin, not in the truest sense.

"There are others," he said to the man, in hope to assure him that their Father had not left them as an island, that He was not without His faithful ones, "more who believe, but not here. They are the ones who sent me. Here, I have only met you."

At this, his brow flinched as familiar doubts crawled through his mind. Whispers of his flesh, or of the evil one. In any case, they were no friends to him. So he reminded himself of what he knew to be true: "But now, He has made us two." And a thin, yet hopeful smile, spread over his face.

there were others.

his heart hammered heavy, breast alight and full of the dazzling lights that surrounded them.

only they were not here. they were elsewhere, but to know that bartholomew (and his home, of course) were not the only ones. well, he counted it a win all the same. perhaps word had spread far from home. perhaps word had been delivered to his own home from this man’s own.

who was to say?

prayers answered, a joyous occasion. some genuine kindness swelled into his voice and eyes. a short lived display of emotion.

tell me, were you sent as a missionary to spread His word as well?

the boy had said he was sent here but not by who.

perhaps — he tingled with the thought — God had spoken to him directly.