Honeyed Pasture for thou shalt not be cured

No epiphanies wrought the beast's features, but neither did he scowl or flinch from the mention of the Lord. Gilead was well taught; he knew not to wholly trust those that he came across but at the very least he could rule out a demon. Blackjaw was an ominous name, he finally decided. But there was light, too. The light of the Lord could be seen in the beats's eyes, and fighting across his spine with the darkness everywhere else.

And the light brought you here? The man's question rang through the air and Gilead knew doubt when he heard it. He liked doubt — doubt was purpose, doubt gave him reason to exist, for his role in this universe was to spread the goodness of the Light and one could not do that to wiling participants; those that knew the truth were already pieces of the puzzle won over, but where there was doubt, there was will.

The Light takes me where He wishes, and I follow. What brought you here, Blackjaw? Gilead intoned with a practiced confidence, a reverence, until he turned the question back upon the stranger.