PIETRO CHOSE TO IGNORE his overbearing shadow, at least a minute longer. He walked to the altar and knelt on sore knees, noticing as he did that the altar cloth hung askew. Crossing himself, he let a half-formed prayer for Dar's soul and Rhys' safety flicker in his mind, like a candle sputtering to life. He tried to shape it in the old language, but his words were lumpy and uneven. Still, he expected God would understand.
He heard Mark walk up the aisle, his clipped steps echoing through the vaulted space. Pietro's prayer turned to Father Mark, a wish that he would do no harm to the flock and maybe even some good. And, finally, he came to himself, asking that God give him the energy he needed to be patient and understanding, even though his energy was so lacking these days.
Mark stepped
