Seoriol had seen death before.  Be it from the jaws of wolves or the biting cold of winter, death was just the sort of thing you saw in the country—especially in the colonies.  But this was different.  This was murder.  A capital sin.  He bowed his head and prayed silently.  He did not tarry long in that—as the only priest for miles, he'd be holding the funeral service.

	A tiny, abrasive thought leaped forth from the back of his mind: [i]Such a small town.  Everyone is [b]here[/b].  The murderer is [b]here[/b].  Everyone knows it.  How long until they turn in on themselves?  How long until Salem tears itself apart in a storm of distrust and hatred?  And then the killer will not be the only one to be cast into hell.[/i]  He looked around.  His congregation.  Children he had baptized.  The crowd was getting restless.  [i]No murderer shall escape the Lord's judgement.  What matters now is safety.[/i]

	"People of Salem, please!  We will solve nothing if we dissolve into chaos."  Being a preacher, Seoriol had plenty of practice sending his voice far out so that everyone could hear.  "If we are to bring peace back into our community, we must think, not flail wildly."