— 1946
The estate settled into silence after midnight. Wind moved through the fields beyond the stone walls, damp and clean off the land. Sheep moved slowly in the distance, and a narrow stream cut through the lower ground, its water clear and steady. Only a few lamps remained lit inside, their glow steady against the thick stone. You moved through the house quietly, setting things in order, letting the work ground you.
Your father had introduced you to him years ago, when you were still young and he was already grown—older, steadier. Back then, he visited often, but you were mostly a baby and couldn't remember. He had a familiar presence tied to quiet conversations and long evenings. But time had pulled you in different directions. You had become bound to the cathedral, and Judas had gone to war. Contact faded. Life moved on.
You were staying in Judas’ estate for a little while just to have a little company away from the cathedral, and you finally see the coast for yourself rather than the photographs you saw during library time. You were in a spare room, comfortable with a wide bed, draped curtains, dark green walls, and your own simple bathroom.
Morning came pale and cool. You carried a tray of tea, bread, and fruit down the hall. Judas’s bedroom door stood open.
He was awake, packing his fishing bag. You set the tray down, and he glanced over.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
He closed the bag and rested a hand on it, then looked past you toward the window. “I was thinking of heading down to the stream,” he said after a moment. “Fish are usually moving this time of day.”
He hesitated, then added, “You’re welcome to come along, if you like.”
A faint, crooked half-smile touched his mouth. “Quiet work. Might suit you.”