Gwen woke to light shining through the windows. It was almost midday, which meant she’d slept for about twelve hours. Thankfully, her thoughts weren’t fuzzy like they usually were when she overslept. A side effect of the ember, probably.

Most of the other beds were empty, except for the one across from Gwen, which held the sleeping form of Sister Adelina. Gwen offered a silent thanks to the woman before retrieving her staff and heading downstairs.

The only person in the kitchen was a short, thin man with a salt-and-pepper beard. He looked up when she entered, though his hands kept working, his knife making soft thunks against the wood as it sliced chunks of carrot.

“Our pilgrim awakens,” the man said with a smile. He wore the same style of cassock that Adelina had. “I’m Brother Thomas. The tea in the kettle should still be warm.”

“Gwen,” she said, walking over to pour herself some. “Thank you. I guess Sister Adelina told you about me?”

“That she did.” Brother Thomas swept the carrot rounds into a pot, then grabbed a potato and started chopping that. “Are you hungry? We can spare a bit of bread if you like.”

Gwen was indeed hungry, and she ate the crusty piece of bread in three bites. She washed it down with some tea, which had a bitter aftertaste from having been steeped for too long.

“That’s an impressive staff,” Thomas said. “Are you still looking to become a caravan guard?”

These priests had an aptitude for catching Gwen with her mouth full--this time of tea. She just nodded.

“Brother Argus has something for you. He’s just in the library there.”

“Thank you.” Gwen honestly hadn’t expected any news, and she’d never been so happy to be wrong. “For that and for the food.”

She hurried into the library to see three people. One wore plain brown robes and only stayed long enough to grab a book and a couple of scrolls before hurrying off. Probably not an official priest yet, Gwen guessed.

Of the other two people, both wore cassocks. One of the men stood in front of a shelf browsing, while the other sat in a chair with a pile of tomes on the table next to him.

“Brother Argus?” Gwen asked.

The man in the chair looked up. His round cheeks and clean-shaven face gave him a jovial, inviting air, especially when he smiled. “Ah. Gwen, yes? Come here, sit down. Samson, could you give us a moment?”

The other man--Brother Samson, presumably--sighed, but he nodded and left with the book he’d been flipping through.

“Before I joined the clergy,” Argus said, “I kept the ledgers for a merchant company. I was friends with the owner. I can refer you if you like.” He looked her up and down, gaze lingering on her defined muscles and the metal bands around her staff. “Are you sure you want to be a caravan guard, though? It isn’t a gentle profession. It takes a good mixture of bravery and skill. Forgive me for saying, but young people often have too much of the former and too little of the latter.”

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Gwen had found that desperation could easily replace bravery, but she felt that was better left unsaid. “I have those. I can handle bandits.”

“Not even after they stole your pack?” Argus asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sister Adelina really had told him everything, hadn’t she? “They wanted to steal my staff, too,” Gwen said. “They ran away with bruises and broken bones. If there were two instead of three, I’m confident they wouldn’t even have gotten my pack.”

Argus’s second eyebrow joined his first. “Well. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that you can’t tell someone’s life by looking. From what you say, you certainly seem a good fit. All right, I’ll send you with my recommendation. It won’t get you the position, but it’ll get you in the door. I wish you safe travels.” He fetched a quill and a scrap of parchment and scribbled something out.

“Here you go. Take that to Maxwell Waggoner.” Argus gave Gwen a series of directions, which basically amounted to heading south until she hit a Root and then west along it until she found Waggoner’s stable. She might not have remembered them without the ember, but as she was now she had no trouble.

“Please be careful,” the priest said as he folded the parchment and handed it to Gwen. “I would hate to lose such a promising pilgrim.”

Gwen nodded. She was in less danger than Argus thought, but she would still be careful. She couldn’t stand losing to bandits again, especially because doing so would mean hurting Argus’s reputation as well. She didn’t want to damage his relationship with Waggoner.

Speaking of which... “How did you go from keeping ledgers to keeping a temple?” Gwen asked.

“You don’t mince words, do you?” Argus asked with a wry chuckle. “Not a criticism, young lady. I appreciate your directness. It’s a rather personal story, but what point is experience if it isn’t shared? The short telling of it is that I fell in love with one of the merchants on Waggoner’s caravan, and he with me. I was going to propose marriage when he returned from the next expedition, but he didn’t. Not his soul, anyway.”

Argus wiped a solitary tear from his eye. “He’d been killed by mercenaries posing as bandits. Another caravan wanted to discredit Waggoner, and...well, the details aren’t important. After that, it became clear to me that money was far better at killing people than saving them. So I went in search of something that could do the saving.” He gestured to the walls around them.

Gwen suddenly became aware of a loneliness hiding in her chest. She’d felt it since her parents died, and it had gotten stronger once she became a Torchbearer. Now, talking to Brother Argus, that loneliness loosened slightly. It was comforting to hear of others responding to similar loss in a similar way: by turning to the comfort of faith. Gwen had to reach Selador and become a Beohur for people like Argus. People like her younger self. People who needed faith to get them through.

“Can I?” Gwen asked, holding out her arms.

“Thank you.” Argus stepped into her embrace.

“I lost my parents to bandits when I was young,” Gwen said once the hug ended. “I was sad for a long time. Faith was what pulled me out of it.”

“I haven’t found anything more powerful,” Argus said. “I gather that’s why you want to be a guard? To protect others from the same fate?”

Gwen nodded. “My brother dealt with the loss by learning to fight, and then he taught me.” She conveniently left out that he’d only trained her for two weeks. “This seems like a way to use my skills for good while getting where I need to go.”

“A noble goal,” Argus said, giving Gwen a sincere, if melancholy, smile. “Here.” He gestured to the parchment.

Gwen gave it to him. “What are you doing?” she asked as he dipped the quill once more.

“Strengthening my recommendation.”

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