Falls of the Hinterlands sontaim

it was the thought.
heda thought bartholomew's voice was beautiful. it was the reverence in each word, she decided, how he shaped each note to be a praise to the lord.
"his lovingkindness is everlasting," she mumbled, a bit off-beat. but like his own thoughts, heda knew bartholomew would not judge her. and the god he worshipped would not either.
lovingkindness. all one word, pushed together. love and kindness.
if she'd had the notion of a dictionary, she would have put bartholomew into the definition of lovingkindness.
"where did you learn your songs? do you make them up?" water dripped from her shoulders and the points of her ears, almost comical save for her rapt expression.