A man shouted at Rowan as he turned to follow the others. "Caretaker…my mother is buried here. Please protect her."
The woman next to him pressed her hands together in front of her chest. "Why did the priests let this happen? You have to make them fix it."
The other villagers began to murmur. Their fragmented requests filtered into Rowan's ears, but he couldn't tell if he actually heard them, or if he could simply *feel* them. The pressure in his head increased, and he flinched away from the flow of their voices.
Wren noticed, and his face instantly darkened. He shielded Rowan with his body as he turned on a black-booted heel toward the crowd. They shrunk back under his glare.
"I thought you reviled him, your filthy, polluted Caretaker." Wren's reprimand sliced through the din of their collective attempts to claim Rowan's attention. "Has your opinion truly changed? Are you ready to admit how wrong you've been before you start asking for things? Where is your shame?"
