Klang, klang-the dry sound echoed strangely across the square. Lawrence grabbed hold of the knocker and rapped it several times. If he had to put it simply, Lawrence would have guessed that the church was unloved by the village.īut there was no point in conjecture. The doors of any normal church would have been open. It wasn’t a cloister, after all, nor did there seem to be a service in progress. It was odd, too, for the door to be closed. The corners of the stone blocks that made up the edifice were rounded with age, though the iron knocker affixed to the church door seemed strangely unused. The church was a grand stone building, its great wooden door framed in iron. “Seems like they’re almost disappointed,” muttered Lawrence to Holo once he’d stopped the wagon and climbed down. The wagon stopped in front of the church, at which point the villagers seemed to assume that the pair had come to pray for safe travel, and the level of interest dropped. Lawrence guided the wagon around the stone and toward the church.ĭespite the constant bombardment of curious gazes, it was clear that this was no isolated mountain hamlet. The only way to know for sure would be to ask a villager, but Holo merely nodded vaguely and leaned back against the wagon seat. A wooden ladder leaned against it, which suggested the stone hadn’t been placed here as a mere landmark.

The stone in question had a smooth, flat surface and came up to about Lawrence’s waist.

“Probably for ceremonial use in some festival or for dancing or maybe for holding meetings, I suppose.” What’s it used for?” asked Holo casually, unconcerned by the villagers’ scrutiny. Lawrence and Holo found themselves yet again the subject of curious stares. There were unsurprisingly a good number of people-children playing in the square and adults standing and talking. Other buildings seemed to be the homes of the village’s older, more influential families-and of course, there was also the church.

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