The Priest's time of death had finally arrived.
The slaves in the cell were all weeping for the old man, their hearts of flesh and blood immersed in an atmosphere of sorrow.
During their days in the cell, the slaves had endured the torment of hunger and thirst, suffering through painful trials, sustained by the Priest's enthusiastic voice and the legends he told.
The morning came silently; the Priest no longer told stories to the slaves, he had finished all he had to tell.
The old man looked at the cell across, comforting the souls of those in misery.
"I am already too old; even without the death penalty, I wouldn't live many more years."
The Priest's voice was weak yet gentle,
"To me, you are like my children. I thank God for allowing me to meet you."
Noen stared straight at the Priest, tears swirling in his eyes.
The Priest knelt on the ground, smiled at Noen, then closed his eyes and quietly brought his hands together, his face filled with tranquility.
