After the new church was completed, many refugees gathered around. Even among believers, there are degrees of faith. A wave of strong believers had been the ones to rush about, file applications, and contribute money and labor to get the church built. Now that it was done, the previously silent, spectating, shallow believers came out of the woodwork to get their "Holy Meal."
And to be fair, the unleavened bread made from white flour smelled amazing fresh out of the oven.
The old man elected as the "Church Guardian" began to speak again, his eyes red-rimmed. He thanked the Lord and his fellow believers. He also gave a passing thanks to a certain Mage—an unbeliever, a lost lamb, an irreverent man who had nonetheless provided the land and money. Then, in a trembling voice, he promised the crowd:
