After a brief disturbance, Aweit and Xiulote vanished inside the great hall. The samurais resumed their statue-like stillness. Quetzal stood with his hands bound and bowed, smiling as usual, thinking rapidly. Uguel was tense and respectful, his face showing surprise, puzzled in his heart.
The elder still had his eyes cast down, as if between sleep and wakefulness, one couldn't tell where his thoughts were drifting. The great hall once again returned to silence.
The breeze stirred the divine curtains within the palace. The sound of the wind became the whispers of saints between heaven and earth. But no one could hear clearly the sacred murmuring within the breeze. And so, those indecipherable whispers turned into the fate of mortals.
After a long while, the elder opened his eyes, tranquil as a still well.
"Quetzal, what do you think a priest is?"