The good Father had just begun his walk when his ears were serenaded by a peculiar tune- a hymn. His ears pricked up, and his eyes began searching for the individual that brought such hope to this dark time, but before he could, a man with most peculiar style had appeared. In all honesty, McNamara hadn't seen an individual wearing such garb since he was a young boy and a sword and shield had still been the symbols of the guard in many a city. To show a preference like that... The man was either very foolish, or a very experienced veteran. His words were true though, and that was what mattered. "Another follower? I would presume her to be the individual who is so serenading us." He would tilt his head upwards, but a slight breeze chose then to waft the sound away from his ears. Maurice- his apprentice, such as he was, wanted permission to begin assisting people. "It's [i]Father[/i] my dear boy. [i]Sir[/i] if you absolutely insist on the military ranks, but the light renders us all equal- nobody is another's master." Perhaps the upper classes needed to be reminded of that some day. "Go, lend some assistance to them, by all means." Once Maurice had been handled, he would turn back to the archaic footman. "Your help would be much appreciated. Can you perhaps go to the front and find out what caused us to stop in such a violent fashion? if you encounter anyone else with enough sense of duty to take care of their fellow man, perhaps ask them to assemble here at the back. That way, we might be able to come to a goodly number of the survivors." Reaching up and scratching the little bit of stubble on his face, McNamara would settle his hat more firmly on his head. Hopefully the soldier would do as he had been bid, leaving him to take up his carrying case once more and attempt to find the dame that was singing. His feet would carry him down along the tracks, to where the rear coaches would come into view proper. The flicker of candle and lantern hid the worst of it, but it was still a terrible sight to see. The last two carriages lay like great beached beasts, forming a rough semicircle of shattered timber and scrap metal. Glass shards covered the ground, crunching underneath each step, and here and there individuals both living and dead would lie, the ground soaking up the blood that trickled down. It was a small blessing that it had been dry- for at least a manageable campfire might be constructed. His explorations to the rear would find the source of the song- a tall, blonde woman wearing some peculiar clerical clothes. "Sister," he said, with a slight relief in his voice. "It is good to see another confirmed of the faith. Did you see what happened here at the time of the crash?"