“As I have told you, some may be our kin, but they are not ours.”

    “Yes… As you've said,” Reverend Richard Henry replied, leaning back a little. “You say that now, Hassun… But, that doesn't make it any more true.”

    Hassun’s expression dropped more. “Please… I'm telling you the complete, honest truth here. The Manitou are not like us. Why won’t you listen to me?”

    Richard laughed to himself—-trying to contain the chuckle under his breath, but failing terribly. “I’ll listen to you when you're right…” He inhaled. “...when you're being honest. Which, as of right now—-in this very moment—-you are not.”

    Hassun scoffed at that. “Of course you'd say that,” he muttered to himself—-annoyed by the reverend’s insistence to not believe his words and truths.

     Richard made his way closer to Hassun, his expression growing more solemn and serious. “Now, Hassun… I'm going to ask you again. Where did those freaks take Aelod? Where'd they take my boy?”

    Hassun huffed. “How am I to know? The Manitou were a part of us, yes… But that was so long ago. Ages upon ages in the past. They split from us without as much as a word. Changed their appearance… Their goals and aspirations. They changed everything. They have their own language, offshoot from ours… I cannot decode it. How am I supposed to know exactly where Aelod is? Most of the information I have is just a small piece… Something about a young man who calls himself ‘Saga’. I cannot offer anything more, Lord Henry.” He paused, exhaling slowly as the near evening sunlight drifted down his face and exposed arms, highlighting each detail of his. He sighed upon seeing Richard’s grimace. “The only other thing I can offer is for me to keep an eye out for the boy. …extending the word to my own warriors too. I'm sure if we search, he will turn up.”

     Richard stood there for a moment, quietly, deep in thought. He exhaled and then commented more on Hassun’s words. “...and if he doesn't?”

    Hassun shifted his weight onto the other leg, with a slight huff of amusement at the reverend's notion. “...then he does not wish to be found.”

      “Or he's somewhere out in one of those thick woods,” Richard offered, grimly. “...bloodied and decaying away from the angels’ graces and protections.”

      Hassun pinched the bridge of his nose at Richard’s words and tendency to immediately assume the worst. “Lord Henry…” He inhaled again, this time more exasperated. “...The Manitou might be a complete and utter mystery to our ranks now, but I assure you, they do not kill.” He paused, his words wavering as he added, “Well, most of them do not. It varies upon person to person, of course… To what the gods have planned and foreseen… For each and every soul.”

    Richard let out a quiet scoff at Hassun’s plural term for deities.

     Hassun rolled his eyes ever so slightly at Richard's response that the other man wouldn't even notice it. “...The main point being that most of them have strict morals and ideals they stick to. They do not tend to stray far from those. Your son will not have come to harm in their grasp.”

    Richard ran his hand over his face, feeling like he had gotten nowhere with the conversation. “Fine, fine. If you insist.” He sucked in a breath, adjusting the space between each of his ankles, planting his weight firmly in the dirt underneath them.

    “I do insist,” Hassun replied, more boldly. “Despite the fact that they are not one with us anymore, they still do travel among us. I've even been able to study their behaviors for ages. I know how they work. I know most wouldn't kill so needlessly… Richard.”

     Richard scoffed. “Lord Henry to you. We're not friends, Hassun.”

      Hassun angered a little at how Richard was talking down to him. “Fine. Search for Aelod on your own. I won't offer my men and put their safeties on the line just for a man who can't see us as equals.” He turned away, heading off to his own camp once more, rolling his eyes again at Richard's words.

    Richard sighed. “Damn it all to hell.” He looked towards the villagers of his settlement, trying to find someone he could give the task of finding his son. His eyes narrowed on a young woman. One of the Buckleys… An Irish coven. To Richard, he saw that family as more expendable than one of the other various families in the settlement. “Young lady? Mind coming over here? I wish to speak with you.”

    The young woman, Maeve, stopped dead in her tracks—-somewhat confused why Richard Henry would want to speak to her personally. She shrugged the feeling off and headed over to him. “...My liege? Can I help you with something?”

     Arms still crossed, Richard began, “How would you like a new job?”