"Brother Philia!"
The sharp, high-pitched shout cut through the quiet rustle of the surrounding forest before the grand carriage had even come to a complete stop.
As the heavy iron wheels ground to a halt against the packed dirt drive, a flood of small bodies spilled out from the main arched entrance of the stone compound. Children of all ages, some wearing faded aprons, others with scuffed leather shoes, came sprinting down the grassy slope, their faces lit up with joy.
Valen stepped out of the coach first, holding the brass-handled door wide open and extending a steady hand. Philia stepped down onto the carriage block, his pale blue velvet coat catching the soft afternoon light.
Before his boots even hit the grass, three young orphans threw themselves against his legs, wrapping their arms around his waist with eager, unpolished enthusiasm.
