The old man bowed so low his forehead almost kissed the floor. For a ridiculous second Luther sat frozen, eyes wide, pulse thudding like a drum. Then sense prickled through the daze: this was absurd. He jolted up and grabbed the Father's shoulder with both hands, hauling him upright.
"Don't do that," Luther barked, half panic, half mock authority. "You're an elder. Elders are fragile. You cough once and the whole lot of you go brittle." Luther said, not even caring he was talking to someone 50 years older than him.
The Father only laughed — a booming, full-bodied laugh that filled the room and bounced off the polished walls like a bell. It was absurdly loud for someone who had been knelt over as if the world were collapsing.
