In the distant beyond the security of the temple's aged stone walls, the sun cresting beyond the mountains and forests brought with it the commencement of night. As safe and sure as this place was, as well as the few torches that dotted the streets outside - the same in which they had seen from their prison nights - it was a change of atmosphere. If dangerous things were not already lurking out and about just as twilight struck, they were now. Further and further still with the falling sun, the growing dark, did the world change rapidly. It became unsettling, as though an invisible mist, a haziness of uncertainty and discomfort set over the land. Even just watching it from the thick glass evoked anxiety, much like the first few nights in the hillside had before it became clear nothing would dare try to breach such an insulated old prison, even if signs of it wandering outside were never far.

It removed the bashfulness and modesty of the priest who, when he returned again one last time with bowls of soup as large as small shields carved from wood, seemed wary. Some sort of inexplicable expectation that terribleness was not far and it was not; a long, distant, mournful cry of something in the wilderness beyond tainted the air. Subtle enough that it was almost impossible to make out among the crackle of the fire and the soft sound of his leather shoes but it added to the ambiance in a way preferred otherwise.

Setting down each remaining meal upon the floor he spoke to them again, "I am afraid this and the hard bread is all I have to reward you with for your apparent success..." He stood after, brushing his slack robes, "But at least you are all not outside."

The remark brought to mind the thought of what now were likely tearing through the den of slaughtered rats; goblins, wolves, other rats if not assuredly. Likely eating anything dead and killing anything that remained, doubtful to linger on, however. There was little left at the farmstead as it was before, the tunnels a network of things being brought to them like the strange chest they had found. Although now that was thankfully all behind them.

"Tomorrow I am sure His Honor will grace us again." Marthan added, rubbing his hands a bit together in visible anxiety. Surely the news of the stead being freed from the consuming wrath of the wilderness would be welcome but would it be enough? After all, all of them were to be dead men walking. Their freedom was only ever truly going to be "earned" in their debts paid in full, no? Even the priest seemed aware of this but hoped otherwise.

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