Yes, [ Godfrey tugs the bottom edge of his shirt back over his firm stomach, ] just so.

[ If Godfrey is aware of the sudden flash of colour in Gale's ears, he doesn't show it. He clears the tension from his throat and rests his other hand on his stomach, rolling the wine in the bottom of his glass. Feels its thin weight rock between hand and palm as he stares through the tent walls.

Softly; ]

I never did learn just what happened.

[ The uncertainty, though frightening, was a better avenue of conversation to travel than others which branched from this event; the fighting, or the cold guilt. Feeling the life leak out of him in that locked, silent office. ]

My fellow clergymen told me that Vladimir had handled everything. And he would not speak on it.

[ Not while he could, anyway, and Godfrey had thought the day would not come.

Perhaps he had died. He'd never know now, and had spent some years convincing himself that the uncertainty perched in the back of his head didn't bother him.

The subject matter sufficiently disturbing for a change in focus, Godfrey's eyes return to the tent. He glances up at Gale and sees his glass empty. ]

Ah. [ Godfrey shifts, wrapping a gentle hand around the neck of their bottle. ] Another, perhaps?