The warm sun begins to drip into the horizon ahead of them, slowly leeching its amber rays up into the sky as a last defiant stretch of its radiance in the battle against the night. Mariette looks at Armen, showing no signs of breaking stride, "Armen." her voice mildly concerned, "Do you not plan to stop for the night? We should start a fire or find somewhere to rest, should we not?"
Armen grunts before replying, "No. I plan to continue through the eve. Time, I fear, is not something that we have ample of."
"What rushes you?"
"This scenario in its entirety. I believe you do not grasp the dire circumstances that are betrothed to a woman of the cloth- let alone someone in such a position as mother superior- falling into servitude of false gods. I must relay a message to Cathedral immediately. We haven't the luxury of rest."
Mariette rolls her eyes and sighs, malcontent. "Yea, alas I fear I may not be able to guide you proper in the umber of night. Rest does one good, as well. The Lord wouldn't wish for you to toil until exhaustion. Then how might you complete your charge??"
Armen comes to a halt, the lead of the horse tugging in his hand as it takes an extra step before stopping next to him. The horse snorts, as if in agreeance with Mariette. Armen eats his lip in frustration and breathes heavily through his nose. "So be it. If the Lord wishes I continue, may he then send pursuers unto us. We shall rest through the eve. At first light we rise." Armen begins to walk again, leading the horse with Mariette behind him, this time, in search of a suitable respite for them to slumber.
After some minutes of walking, they come upon a swell in the trail where wagons would use to turn around. Plenty of space for the three of them to repose. Armen supports Mariette as she lowers herself from the saddle. Either of them sits at the edge of the dirt circle they were in while the horse kneels down and lays on his belly, his legs folded in. Mariette clasps her hands together and quietly prays, while Armen holds his thorny rosary in his hands, also delved into prayer. She removes her bandeau and veil, exposing her full head to the air. She bore no hair save for her creamy fur upon her skin. Then she bundles her headdress into a makeshift pillow and lay down humming gently the Athanasian creed. Armen doesn't lay down, instead listening to her sleepily purr the melody.
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As he listened, he shut his eyes and let his head fall back against his shoulders. Imagining himself back in the massive halls of Cathedral. Its stained-glass windows dazzling against the marble floor as the morning sun bestowed its yellow gaze and bent itself with the colors of the Lord's house. He would witness the monks draped in their brown burlap, cradling their thuribles by their chains as they billowed incense. The monks flowed around the pews as water does a stone in a creek, all the while chanting the very same tune that Mariette sings next to him.
Armen's lucid dreaming melds itself into a vision of only Mariette within the great halls, singing as she kneels before the grand cross gilded with gold and gems. In this fantasy, he prays next to her, mostly however, he listens to her solemn voice echoing through the church.
Armen opens his eyes to see the stars in full view, scattered across the wine dark sky. Mariette succumbs to slumber and her breath is lost in the sound of the swishing grass as a breeze flows past. Armen watches the stars: the tiny pinholes in the firmament that give every man upon the earth a tantalizing glimpse into heaven. So far. So impossible to reach. Nonetheless, he brings his hand up, palm outward as he tries so desperately to grasp only a single bead of light. Hoping against hope that he might be gifted with only a touch one day. He knew he would never be worthy of such a grand happening, yet he couldn't stop longing for the pity of angels to give him a sip from the golden font.
He sinks his head down as his arm falls back to himself, then he lay, and hope that he might see the gates within his own dreams.
