Welcome to Gaia! ::

Whatever it is that they suffer, it hurts more to live suffering it than it does to look upon the broken body experiencing the pain.

Pain and suffering came in more forms than Zekiel could even pretend himself capable of naming or categorizing individually, but this was the mindset he came armed with when the term ‘squeamish’ was used. Perhaps the task wasn’t for everyone, but if the gods had placed any burden on their children no matter how great or small, who was he turn away so as not to bear even the small weight of witnessing its effect? In his sixteen years, Zekiel did not think himself an expert on burdens, life, or the dying, but the inner walls of the church bore witness to many desperate faces, and he knew enough to recognize that.

His smile of consolance was lost behind the cloth of the mask that kept him healthy, but his eyes moved, taking in everything the man was before reaching to his waistbelt and the small assortment of instruments there. While a warm prayer and consultation suited a more lively patient best, those who had already strayed closer to the gods and who were toeing the line between this world and the next were better aided by different means.

Zekiel moved to the foot of the man’s cot, careful to stay out of Tacrith’s way while finding an adequate position for himself. Then, thumbing in turn order over the etched beads of his prayer string, he murmured the blessings of protection, health, faith, and—as a precaution—peaceful passage, entreating that the gods carry out their will with mercy, whether that be leading their child to health anew, or taking him with grace back into their keeping. These older prayers—and Zekiel wondered in that moment if the intention was to spare the ears of those who would not be keen to hear all they entailed—were written in a tongue, as his teachers said, ‘meant for the ears of gods’ and taught only to those touched and taken within the Sanctum’s walls that they may have a closer open channel to the heavens.

To him, the concept of secret-keeping or the withholding of full truths was alien and difficult to understand, but it being what he was taught, he spoke the prayers as written and left the reasoning to those better suited to it than he.

When they left the room, Zekiel mirrored Tacrith’s behavior, depositing his mask where the other boy did and sparing him an assessing glance. After Tacrith’s sigh, Ze reached, touching lightly to the other boy’s wrist with his fingertips and offering a tilted smile.

“Whether they stay or go, when, and where is not a choice we carry. Each will be happy to see you when we come, I am sure. I look forward to meeting all of them.”

It was for the most part a simple process. Despite the great variety in type and gravity of ailments that the patients suffered with, Zekiel’s duties at least were simple, and though the tone of some rooms was different than others, he enjoyed being there, speaking with those who could and offering the comfort of their common god and goddess to all those who wanted it—which was most. Some were chipper and talkative despite their illnesses, clearly lonely and eager for the company, while others had far less to say, but all of it was part of a greater tapestry that Zekiel found fascinating to be entwined in, and by the time they were stepping out of the last room for his rounds, the day had been among one of the most fulfilling he could recall.

His parting smile to Tacrith was genuine and bright. “It was most wondrous to accompany you on your path for this day and I am grateful the gods saw fit to making our services meet. I hope that we come to share space again in days to follow.”