Dark clouds concealed the high heavens.
The howl of the gloomy night wind whistled past the sides of the galloping company.
York led Cardinal Tyr and his retinue of Missionaries from the Truth Church, riding at full speed toward the center of what was once the swamp.
"We're almost there!"
"After we enter the forest ahead, it's only another half-hour's journey to the birthplace of our Lord's mortal vessel."
York gazed at the familiar edge of the forest and immediately called out a reminder to Old Tyr and his followers riding beside him.
"Rest assured, Lord Baron. In the presence of a Deity, we would not dare be presumptuous!"
Old Tyr looked to be at death's door, yet on horseback, he betrayed no sign of breathlessness or weariness, looking far from ready to collapse.
