Phoenix Maplewood the healing of nations

ah, a leader. but what sort of leader could a broken man be? and surely he was broken. he mourned losses that hosannah could not fathom, and she pitied him, pitied the sundered soul that rested inside of him. of all her wanderings and meetings with the natives here, hosannah imagined this man to be the most corrupted; he looked and sounded as if he had been deconstructed and laid bare, a scab which could not heal. when he murmured something about being punished, hosannah knew what must be done.

she had come here seeking life, seeking value for her pack; yet here was this man, and here they were, together, in a forest that was trying so hard to reignite. perhaps, she drawled quietly, sorrowfully, and hosannah crept up close to him. she did not touch him, but there was a subtle leaning of her body - offering physical comfort should he want it - and as she settled nearer to him, she continued.

or perhaps, tested. the lord has His own desires, and we are but fodder to Him; yet maybe He will save those worth saving, her tone was light, but faint. she spoke slowly, rhythmically, a true snake-charmer before him. are you worth saving? do you want to be saved? they were two very different questions, but she looked upon the dark man still, her eyes bright and inquiring.