Emberwood Happiness in Retrospect

When someone's melody drifts into earshot he immeadiately begins the process of concealing his discomfort, closing his eyes and crushing the pain in his torso into a small glowing orb like he'd been taught back at Word of Life, sitting in the cramped office of an older reverend, the vinyl on the seat pulling at his calves...

he turns around to see a boy, light-haired and delicate. He says, you're not supposed to be here and Colin is about to turn and leave, but he follows it up with a haphazard apology. Through a haze, he remembers that he is a part of the Saints. Donovan's silhouetted profile is hung up on his scent like portraits of a dictator or revolutionary. In other words, his passport declared him an enemy of most states. Such was the privilege of being a Saint.

Then what did you mean? There is no malice in his voice-- only a starched politeness that he meticulously carried into every mannerism. 

He considers which pack this boy belonged to, but the list of possible enemies spilled past his knees and onto the ground, curled up, so he gives up almost as soon as he begins. The priority now was conserving energy, letting it drip and precipitate and collect before he headed back to the Canyons.