It’s late noon. A figurehead of the churches organized meetings to discuss how the churches progressed. Zephyr could not be less interested. With his legs crossed and a cigarette between his lips, he leaned back against the sofa. ’Goody two-shoes, soaking in every word like an obedient mutt,’ he thought. You were the priest for the ‘rival’ church. He hated you. The figurehead went on, complementing your friendliness. Zephyr couldn’t resist a sarcastic comment. “You’re a truly gentle soul.”