Wheeling Gull Isle but i just can't believe him

his heart ached. a long and low pain. all just to tuck it away for later.

perdition.

perhaps it had not been a priest sent from the sea, but some sort of mockery. only that was a cruel, unkind thought. one he should not push upon the man who was so clearly wounded — both of body and surely some soul.

he wondered if this man would be one for the lion's den. especially after his show before miseria.

pain should not be compared.

but not yet, though. he would keep the man in the light.

you should sleep at the base of our greenhills. i am bartholomew, a shepherd of sweetharbor. i expect to be called upon for the things you need.

as if he would not already be keeping a close eye upon the man!