Even the village chief, even the noble sir, seemed like an old dog wagging its tail offering fawning flattery in front of that woman, yet she hardly ever gave them a glance, instead, she often showed concern for them, the poorest at the bottom.
Even if the other's gaze of pity held a hint of disdain, Bachel was already very satisfied because she was going to heal his lame leg, today.
Bachel actually understood nothing, he only knew that the priest, as beautiful as an elf, had him go each day to a small temple, praying before an unassuming Shen Kan. Poor Bachel was not even clear on what prayer was, he only knew how to kneel and kowtow, and it was only after being taught by the other for a while that he learned the formal ritual of prayer, kneeling on one knee.
The priest required them to pray twice a week, no offering needed, just devout piety.
Because of devout prayer, that Shen Kan would light up with a faint spiritual light.
