"Cheese. The farm girl sent it. Said the temple shouldn't rely only on offerings." He set it on the bench. "Also. The boy you're teaching. The one with the limp."
She smiled, though sadness tugged at the corner of her lips. "And here I thought you came to check on the sewers again." "Cheese
The autumn sun bled amber through the stained-glass window of the small chapel. Inside, the air smelled of old incense, beeswax, and the faint, clean scent of steel that followed the Goblin Slayer wherever he went. "And here I thought you came to check on the sewers again
He sat on a wooden bench—not praying, but checking his gear. A spare leather strap for his cuirass. A pouch of salt. A small clay vial of oil. His helmet rested beside him, revealing short, ashen hair and tired, watchful eyes. His helmet rested beside him
"You don't sleep much," she said softly. Not a question.
"I did. The grates are reinforced. But the priestess reported a missing goat from the eastern pasture three days ago."