The Mountain

We are so close now… I do not feel the cold. The Heretic has asked me what slows my pace, and I told him that… and it has been so long… I wish I could merely stop a moment. Stop and pray that this path was the right one. Prayer is strange to me. It brings memories. Of a simple stone chapel… across the grounds, in the shelter of trees. In a place that was once home. The Heretic seems to share the memory, for he smiles. The Heretic… that is not truly his name, though… surely he was once a priest, but he has spoken truth. Only a little further, he says, "Come, Isabella." But I do not hear his voice.