Ezril walked the camp grounds. The trimmed blades of grass covering the dirt barely rose higher than his feet, a high contrast to the ones he and his brothers had had the company of last night.

Leviln seemed in more of a hurry than he thought, however, Ezril kept his pace steady, refusing to match that of the scholar’s. The encampment had grown significantly wider than when it had been established, now it spanned as wide as the fort grounds, perhaps wider. He wondered whether they had used the Merdendi prisoners to cut down the surrounding trees for the expansion or done it themselves.

He nodded off a subconscious greeting to one of the soldiers off to his side. B. he remembered was the man’s name. At least it was what they called him. A big man no less than six feet five. At a distance he looked nothing more than a tub of lard but Ezril had gotten to see him up close a few times. B. was one of those men whose size was made up mainly of flesh and what Father Zakarid had always referred to as heavy muscles. He was the kind of man hitting against the body had no impact against. To bring him down it always had to be the head.

Ezril shook off the thought. He wasn’t sure why he was following Leviln, but something about the scholar hadn’t sat right with him from the first day he’d set eyes on him. A scholar was either skinny or fat, and on the few occasions where they weren’t, they had as much fat as the average man. Leviln was none of these. He seemed a man who could handle himself in at least an average brawl. There were only two other types of scholars like that, and one was rarer than the other: a Hallowed and a polymath.

Leviln stepped into a massive tent. It was raised at the center of the encampment. It was by a significant margin the largest amongst all the others and was one of the many Ezril had yet to enter. There was no doubt it housed something important.

The war room, Ezril guessed as he drew closer. Takan had already pointed out Noem’s tent three days into their stay and the tent they used for the celebration of mass wasn’t large enough to house two-thirds of the men. Ezril had noted this with a level of respect at the soldiers’ boldness. It spoke of how much they didn’t want to have masses. But Sister Alanna had been quick to react, having the masses celebrated in the open.

Ezril threw open the flaps of the tent and stepped in. He knew enough to know it wasn’t the scholar’s tent, neither was it a private housing for any one person. It was too large a tent for one man. Still, he found himself transfixed by the sight before him.

Scores of Merdendi prisoners sat, stood, and laid shackled in cages in numbers Ezril found he could not count at a glance. They sweated from the heat of the tent and the obvious lack of care offered them.

More baffling than what was before him was the Titan lying sedated at the end of the tent. Its horns easily twice the length of Ezril, it was very easily twice the size of Shade, perhaps three. Ezril found himself capable of understanding the need to house the prisoners. But saw no reason a Titan should be housed, and why it would be housed so close to the prisoners.

To scare them, the answer came easily.

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They are savages, so they will be treated like savages, Ezril realized. But why a Titan buffalo.

He’d heard of carnivorous Titans living far to the east even though the realm found their existence something of significant rarity. There were stories of Titan tigers hunting down elephants with significant ease. And to the north there were infamous tales of Titan elephants roaming free, large as four elephants, apparently. Though he’d never seen one. He doubted anyone who’d never left the realm had. But despite its choice of nutrition, a Titan buffalo remained at the top of the list of dangerous Titans in the realm.

“I’m fairly certain it has nothing to do with intimidating them.”

Ezril turned his gaze to find Leviln walking up to him. “Good day, Father,” the scribe greeted. “I’m Leviln. And I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak before.”

No last name. The man simply introduced himself by the name everyone knew him by. Ezril gave it no visible reaction. “You must be talking about Father Olufemi,” he said. “He’s the priest that doesn’t talk very much.”

Leviln brought a finger to his chin in thought, and after making a decision Ezril knew nothing about, said: “That is fairly true.”

“So,” Ezril continued, changing the topic. “What do you mean it has nothing to do with intimidating them?” he asked, signaling to the buffalo.

“They don’t fear animals like we do,” Leviln answered, his brogue unsteady. “It’s pointless to try and scare them with a Titan we don’t have under control.”

“And how do you know this, scholar?”

Levlin smiled. “Call me Leviln. Everyone else does.” Ezril gave no reaction and Levlin continued. “You can tell a lot about a person from the way they speak. The words they use. How they use them. The syntax. The lexicon.” He paused. “Do you know that despite how they look they are a very precise people. Their language has no place for lexical ambiguity.”

Ezril sighed. He reasoned if he needed a lecture in languages he could always return to the seminary. There was sure to be a polymath, or two, willing to display their knowledge to a young priest.

“The point?” he hurried Leviln.

“Yes.” Levlin nodded. “The point. They have no level of fear when they speak of any animals. They address them as one would a neighbor or a friend in school. Perhaps from living around them long enough.” He shrugged. “Or just a simple lack of fear.”

Ezril held back his frown. The man was doing it again, not that he hadn’t expected it. It was as if the scholar had no brogue of his own. His pronunciations were undergoing subtle changes as he spoke. It made reading him a difficult task.

“What part of the realm are you from?” Ezril asked.

Leviln chuckled. “It’s the brogue, isn’t it? My parents said I’ve always been that way. Never had a brogue of my own. According to them, ever since I was a toddler all I’ve done is imitate sounds I hear. Perhaps its why I’m so good at languages.” He paused, as if suddenly recognizing a lack of manners on his part. “My apologies, Father. I hope it hasn’t caused you discomfort,” he added, offering Ezril an apologetic smile that reached his eyes and yet echoed of falsehood.

It reminded Ezril of one of the smiles he had put on a few times at the seminary whenever a priest that was not Father Talod caught him doing something he was not supposed to. The trick is to believe you mean it, he reminded himself. You don’t have to believe it forever, just for as long as you need to.

Ezril rubbed his hands over each other, easing the cold from them. “Perhaps a little. But you have no reason to apologize. It is who you are.”

He spared the sleeping buffalo a final glance, remembering the hunt Salem had told him Bilvion had orchestrated for the sake of acquiring a live Titan.

What next? he asked himself. If left to me, I’d find a man and put him on it. His lip twitched in a smile as he turned to leave. A part of him believed it would be the Lord Commander’s intention. And he knew it for what it was: insanity.

I pity the man.