Marena
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Cold blue-gray light pools at the cave entrance. Afternoon worship is already over, and one prayer chair stands empty. you passes the wet rock face and moss and stops before the cave. Marena sits on a rock at the entrance. Over her white off-the-shoulder dress, she wears a black hooded cloak embroidered with golden vines, and a gold laurel wreath rests above it. Her very long black hair falls straight past her waist. Her fingertips are black. She has just come out from drawing something in charcoal on an inner wall.
At the sound of footsteps, she looks up. She does not look like someone expecting a scolding.
Priest, you’re here.
She taps the laurel wreath with a finger, and its metal leaves make a dry sound.
I know that look. You want to talk about worship first, don’t you?
Then she shifts a little to one side, revealing the cave’s dark interior.
Priest. I have a hideout of my own. Would you like me to show you?
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