The evening air outside the temple felt colder than it should have.
Elian stepped down from the stone entrance slowly, his hand still aching faintly from the cut across his palm. The blood had dried now, leaving a thin dark line across his skin. He wiped it once against his trousers without thinking.
The village had not been quiet while he was inside.
People had gathered.
At first only a few had come up the hill, curious about the sudden chanting that had stopped too abruptly. But when the temple doors had opened by themselves and Elian walked out alone, the whispers spread quickly.
Now more villagers stood near the lower path.
They did not approach the temple steps.
They watched.
Elian noticed them only after taking several steps away from the entrance.
Old Mara stood near the well bucket she had carried halfway up the hill. Thom was there too, along with several farmers who should have still been in the fields at this hour.
No one spoke at first.
