We waited in the shadows of the silent temple, like shadows ourselves hidden under the crimson eaves of that quiet place. He would come, a pilgrim like the rest, unspeaking like the rest, but not like the rest. He would come to the temple, the silent temple, to hide himself within as we were hidden without.
But he would never enter the silence of the temple, the solace, the rest, the resignation, for if we let him, he would never come out. He would stay there and die, soul then body. He would waste his voice.
We wait for him.
Tale Told 