Wheeling Gull Isle tongkola

bartholomew had been engaged in a slow morning prayer, not far at all from the slumbering girl, that bled into the afternoon.

he prayed for her heart.

her mind.

her soul.

deeply, he wished she would find that peace. he prayed she would find strength to do what was right. he prayed that even if she did not believe, that God Himself might guide her to happiness. save her from the grief of her soured heart.

her voice called out behind him. his head turned over his bony shoulder, narrow face only accentuating the willowed structure of his body.

well, why don't we figure out the path then?

he waited before he rose, wondering if she truly did wish to indulge him in an adventure.