Father Zantus, Amele Barett (and Verah), and Miro

Miro walks silently towards the temple with this tiny life in his hands. Its odd that such a creature can be no more than a yearling and already its more than half his own size. What a trick of fate that people such as his own should exist. Little people to perform the "Little" tasks. He had long since given up on this mentality but it was hard to remove years of doctrine and sometimes his dark thoughts crept up on him. What a relief it had been that Nethys had accepted him dispite his size. And what terror that followed that night that bought his escape at the death of his friends...... There was no time to dwell on such dark thoughts when there was enough darkness about him to concentrait on. Not to mention the ruse of his following of Desna, it was a blessing that nethys demanded his faithful to seek all knowledge and not narrow their scope. His knowledge of the other faiths and practices had served him well. Upon reaching the cathedral Miro remained close to the family not really knowing what to do with the yearling, awaiting some sort of command or time at which he could relinquish his charge and move back to more important things.

Father Zantus motioned quickly to a few of the acolytes, they swallowtail blue robes tied with black cords, billowing as they rushed forward. He whispered into the ear of a curly haired teen, who's eyes widened then nodded emphatically as he rushed away on some unknown errand. He then whispers to the other two, motioning to Amele and Miro, holding the sleeping and calm Verah. The two youths, a boy and girl who favored each other considerably, split to their tasks - one taking the still sobbing Amele into the cathedral and one gently taking Verah into his arms and following his sister indoors. A few small cliques of citizens were peppered a few yards away, making sure to to look and listen without appearing much like people who were doing such. Zantus didn't seem to pay them much mind as he turned to Miro. The kind man, who dedicated his life, including his youth to the faith, appeared so old and weary then. His hair wasn't nearly as neat as it had been the day of the festival and appeared deeper grey. The wrinkles in his face seemed heavy with lack of sleep and much worry, making him appear much more elderly than his was. Even still he smiled at Miro. "Miro, Desna surely brought you from desert and across the seas, to be here to guide and protect us. I really can't imagine what it'd be like if you and the others were not here to give us aid..." He bowed reverently after this, genuine in his gratitude.

Miro shakes his head quietly. "Father, had myself and the others not been here then others would have stood in our stead. This is the way of people. Why you yourself are a hero in your own right. The strength to stand as a pillar in your community is no easy task. And if I may say you have been very busy as of late consoling and guiding your flock through this turbulant time. I must say your lack of sleep is evident, see that you find some time for yourself soon lest you fall ill. But again, While I thank the divines above I was here to help in my stead someone would have stood against your plight. That is what separates us from the lesser creatures of this world. Our ability to empathize with one another aswell as our willingness to run into the flame instead of away for the sake of others over our own well being." Miro looks about the cathedral in silence for a moment as his words resonant between them.

After being dismissed by the sheriff, Synovia does not return to the Tavern for she can not face the boy, She heads to the Cathedral and watches the scene unfold. She is filled with guilt, and anger, but mostly of memories of the past and the other family she could not save. When she can watch the woman's grief no longer, she find a bench in the court yard and gives into her own guilt and sorrow and quietly sobs.

"Ma!" a young cry calls out. Aeren is running towards the Cathedral, a tired guard running behind him, and slides to a stop besides Father Zantus and Miro. He pauses and looks at both of their faces, a complex mix of sadness, defiance, confusion and anguish working their way across his young face. He looks to speak, falters, and cannot. He turns to face the Cathedral and begins to jog up the stone steps to find his remaining family. The guard panting, middle aged and more paunched than his younger peers, catches his breath. "Sherriff... wanted me...to escort the boy." he said between pants. "He took off..." The guard runs the back of his hand across his brow. "...Didn't tell him 'bout the dog...just his Pa."

Syn walks up beside the guard,"He already knew about the dog, Go on back I'll make sure they get back safe." She says her grief still evident.

"Aw, Syn... I..." he looks down and rubs the back of his neck then nods. "Well, don't take this all too hard, dear."

"How can I not. I failed this family, just as I failed my own."